Shattered and Torn
by SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: Sometimes, the pain gets to be too much. Sometimes, when you keep things locked inside, it eventually consumes you. No one can be strong forever. All it takes is one moment to break even the strongest of us. And sometimes it takes one person to help put us back together again.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story that I helped my friend write eons ago, back when we wrote BSB together, and she gave me full permission to rewrite it as a Spencer/Remy story. So, that's what I'm doing :D It's a helluva lotta fun, let me tell you. Mais, I'm not sure if any of you will like it, so now that I've got the first chapter fully fixed. This is NOT a death fic, even if you feel that way sometimes, so hold on to that. But it IS a rape fic, so if you're triggered by that, please don't read. I'm warning for: rape, graphic depiction of rape, the aftereffects of it, suicidal thoughts, depression, drug use, alcoholism... yeah. This isn't pleasant at first. It does end happy in the long run, though, I promise!_

 _I'm posting this to see if y'all are interested in it. Depending on the response I get, I'll either finish or take it down. So, s'il vous plait, be honest and let me know what you think!_

* * *

The sky was a gloomy color that perfectly matched the mood of the person standing on the balcony of his hotel room. A bottle in his hand, he leaned on the railing and watched the clouds slowly darken across the sky. There was nothing like a good thunderstorm. The first droplets of rain splashed down, but he didn't bother going inside. Instead he stood there as they came, faster and faster, until it was a downpour. Within minutes he was soaked. The water felt good on his skin.

Overhead, the thunder started to rumble. Standing against the railing, the man spread his arms, letting the storm fill him. A bolt of lightning lit the sky for one second in all of its deadly beauty. Here, witnessing this, standing in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, he felt alive. He felt human for the first time in almost six months.

So much of his life anymore was meaningless. Each day he went through the motions, but they weren't good enough. None of it was ever good enough. Others had started to notice it and call him on it. What did he care? What did they know? How could they understand what was going on in his mind? He hadn't told them—could never tell them. They would never understand. How could they? You couldn't understand something like that until you lived through it. Until you had to crawl out of the other side on your hands and knees, trying to get back on your feet.

They wanted to judge him for the things he'd done lately. Maybe they were right in that. Nothing he did seemed to help take the pain away; or at least, not for long. Never long enough. Always his mind would go back to that night. One night of his life that would never go away. The one night that had ruined everything, including him.

There was nothing left inside of him anymore but what they had left there. A shattered heart and a torn soul. Pain, always the pain, and fear. The fear that never completely leaves you. The fear that woke you up at night and had you gripping your sheets and biting your pillow to stop yourself from screaming until your voice was gone. It left you trembling when someone looked at you a certain way, or brushed up against you when you least expected it.

They attributed it to nerves, or a paranoia that was a side effect of the drugs they all knew he had started doing again but never acknowledged. He didn't have the heart to tell them that the drugs had once helped control it. They had once taken the fear and brought it to a level he could manage. He couldn't tell them that he had started taking them again not because he wanted to, but because he had needed a way to survive and it had been all he could think of. Nor could he tell them that it wasn't working anymore.

Sometimes he wondered if he was sane anymore. He didn't feel like it. Here he stood, a bottle of Jack in one hand, staring at a thunderstorm in the pouring down rain. He found his eyes traveling over the balcony. Dark thoughts entered his mind—not for the first time. _One quick move and it would be over_.

He stepped up on the bench against the wall, the railing now barely sitting at his knees as he stared down. Through the rain he couldn't make out the ground, but he knew that it was a ways down. This room was on almost the top floor of the hotel. One step, one small jump, and he would never have to do this again.

While the storm raged overhead, another one raged inside of him. Staring at what he felt was his only release, Spencer Reid found himself thinking about the one moment that had brought him here. The one night that had led him to this.

* * *

*Six Months Earlier*

The club was packed and the music was loud. Usually, this wasn't Spencer's kind of place, but he was smiling as he made his way through the front door. The team had just gotten back from one of their more gruesome cases, one that they'd thankfully 'won', and their Unsub was in jail. Right now more than anything they needed to go out and celebrate their win. They'd caught the Unsub while he'd been with his victim and they'd managed to save her. That was definitely cause for celebration. So just barely an hour back home, the group headed out to a local club they liked to enjoy now and again. Sometimes, Spencer would cry off from these gatherings. Tonight, he was more than willing to come out. Mostly because of the man walking at his side.

"C'mon, _mes amis_." Remy LeBeau said with a smirk, twisting so that he was walking backward into the club so that he could grin at them. Somehow he managed to do it without actually crashing into anyone, which was amazing. Over the top of his shades Spencer caught sight of the red and black eyes that Remy always hid, currently lit with the warm glow of mirth. "Let's dance!"

Remy's presence was another reason to celebrate. The two best friends had been planning to get together for a while now. He'd managed to make it to DC just an hour before Spencer and the team did.

The two men had been close friends since they'd met in a museum back when Spencer was in college. Spencer had been there by himself to simply enjoy the art work. At fifteen, he'd been both a nerd and extremely shy, just starting to find himself attracted to other people. He'd stood no chance against the hot guy who had come up next to him and started discussing the atrocious painting that Spencer had been standing in front of. At the time, Spencer hadn't known that Remy—Master Thief—had actually been casing the place. All he'd known was that an attractive, funny, surprisingly witty man was talking to him. They'd run into one another a few more times there before Remy asked him out to coffee.

That had been the start of a fantastic friendship. Remy often told people now that the only thing that had kept him from pursing Spencer in a more than friendship capacity had been his age. He'd been fifteen while Remy was nineteen at the time. But they'd become extremely close friends and that hadn't faded over the years. If anything, it'd grown stronger. Remy was one of the most important people in Spencer's life. The BAU team had discovered that the first time that Spencer had ended up in the hospital for the job and Remy had rushed in only hours after his admittance. It took maybe fifteen minutes before Remy had charmed them all. None of them cared that he was a mutant. Emily had told him once "He cares about you, Reid, anyone can see that. That's all that matters to us."

He often came out to hang out with Spencer, spending a night or even a few weeks there. Spencer had no clue how long he was going to be sticking around this time. But he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Remy caught hold of Spencer's wrist and dragged him out with him towards the dance floor despite Spencer's protests. The others were laughing and then Emily was there as well, pushing against Spencer's back to force him out there. "Remy!" Spencer called out laughingly, trying to tug his hand free. "I don't dance! You know I don't dance!"

"Y' just aint had enough t'drink yet." Remy said, tipping his head so he could wink at Spencer.

Somehow Spencer ended up with a drink in hand. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised, not after all these years. Remy lifted his own glass in a gesture of 'cheers' that Spencer couldn't deny. He clinked their glasses together even as he was laughing. "You're a horrible influence on me."

The two downed their drinks together and Spencer fought back the urge to cough. Remy didn't even seem fazed. He grinned broadly and took Spencer's glass from him. "Let go a lil, cher! We're celebrating y'r finished case t'night!"

Derek appeared through the crowd with four drinks in hand—one for him, Emily, Remy and Spencer—and amidst their cheers and laughter, Spencer found himself downing yet another shot. What's the worst that could happen? His friends were with him. They'd keep him safe. As if to echo that, Derek reached over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "There you go, kid. Let go a little! We got your back."

A look over to the bar showed Aaron and Dave sitting together, watching them sort of fondly, the two parents watching their group of kids. It gave Spencer a little more confidence to just relax. His friends must've sensed it because they were grinning at him and Spencer found himself dragged right out to the middle of the dance floor.

The music was loud and it felt like Spencer could feel the beat of it throbbing away inside of him. He wasn't one to dance typically, not without a few more drinks than were already in him, but Remy's good mood was infectious and soon the four of them were dancing with the crowd, laughing at one another and just having a good time. Remy kept close to Spencer, he and Emily both, and between the two of them they helped keep Spencer moving, Remy even reaching out once to help Spencer move his hips just the right way while Emily took hold of his hands and danced with him. The lights of the club helped to hide the blush that burned through Spencer's cheeks, yet they highlighted the wide grin he wore.

The touch of Remy's hands on his hips was a pleasant thing. Though they'd been friends for so long, both had always admitted how attracted they'd been to one another at the start, and that little attraction had never gone fully away. It had started to sit between the two of them recently. Spencer was shyer about it than Remy; he was hesitant to say or do too much. Fear kept him from trying to pursue anything. Remy had no such qualms. Under the cover of dancing with everyone, he was letting himself brush up against Spencer, holding him and twisting with him in ways that should be illegal and in which Spencer had absolutely no protestations.

Dance after dance—and shot after shot—Spencer built up a pretty good buzz. It loosened him up quite a bit more than normal and relaxed him in ways he usually didn't achieve in public. The others kept him out on the dance floor despite his laughing protests. He was still dancing with them when Dave and Aaron decided to call it quits. They were the first to leave. Not long after, Derek found a woman to dance with, and he was gone.

By the time that one a.m. rolled around, the club was still moving, but Spencer was definitely almost done. This was more human interaction than he usually had in a month. Plus, he was moving well beyond buzzed and into 'drunk'. It showed as he stumbled his way over to the bar, almost tripping over the people there. Emily's arms had to catch him, which made the two of them laugh. Remy came up snickering behind them, having caught the tail end of that. "I t'ink it might be time t'get y' home, _mon ami_." He teased Spencer.

"I think you're right." Spencer said, slurring and grinning. "But, bathroom first!"

Laughing, Emily let him go. "Thanks for the info."

"You're welcome!" Spencer laughed. He pushed away from the bar and started to head in the direction of the bathrooms. "I'll be back in a minute and then we can go home." With another laugh, Spencer made his way through the crowd and toward the restrooms. The hallway was deserted, which wasn't unusual. By now people were either on the floor, tucked back in a hidden room, or heading home for the night.

It didn't take long to use the bathroom and take care of business. Even if the floor didn't seem to want to quite stay still. He amused himself with walking across it; it was like walking on a ship.

After washing his hands, he stumbled his way back out of the bathroom, laughing lightly to himself. Why on earth had he let Remy give him so many drinks? The man knew how Spencer could get when drunk. _That's probably why he did it._ He liked to get Spencer to loosen up now and again. Well, this had done it. Spencer snickered as he turned a corner and leaned into the wall a little. He was most definitely too drunk for public. It sure felt good, though. Even if he knew he'd be paying for it a bit tomorrow.

He never noticed anyone else in the hallway until it was too late and he bumped into someone. It sent him stumbling so that he barely managed to catch himself on the wall. "Oh! I'm so sorry." He said immediately, turning to look at whoever he had hit.

A tall, well-built man was standing there staring at him, and he had a group of guys with him. "Look what we found, boys." The guy said, stepping toward Spencer. Something about him had Spencer's stomach jumping. When the others moved forward, that bad feeling in Spencer's stomach grew, making him feel just a little nauseous. Whatever look was on Spencer's face had the guy grinning. "Would ya look at him! He's a small little thing, isn't he?"

"Look, I'm sorry about stumbling there. I've had just a bit too much to drink and I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Spencer apologized, sidestepping against the wall. One of the other men stepped forward, blocking him from going any further and that bad feeling grew worse. This wasn't good; it wasn't good at all. Spencer tried to move the other way, but they were all around him suddenly, each one of them smiling.

The first guy had the biggest smile of all. "You're right, Al. Almost skinny as a girl!"

Even drunk, the profiler in Spencer was working, looking these men over and cataloguing important things. One of the first things he took note of was how drunk they were. That was rather obvious. It showed in their voices and in their body language. But they weren't just drunk, they were drunk _together,_ a group of friends all under the influence, and that was a very dangerous thing. Especially considering the way they were looking at him and the grins they wore. Spencer's fear grew and he tried to taper it down. Carefully, he held up his hands, hoping to go for peaceful. "Now, gentlemen, I don't want any trouble."

The group of guys laughed, the sound making Spencer even more nervous. He looked from one to the other, counting their numbers in his head and feeling sick with what he saw. There were six. _Six_. Even sober, he'd be in a lot of trouble. Spencer had been beaten up enough times in his life to know pretty well what he could and couldn't handle and how good his chances were of being able to get away. This right here? This was trouble. If this turned in to a fight, there was no way in hell he could hold his own against six men, especially when he was drunk. Adrenaline was burning away the alcohol though, and he could feel his muscles tensing as his body prepared to do the only thing he could do, the only thing that might afford him a chance—run.

"He doesn't want trouble, you hear that!" The leader of the group said, laughing. "You think you could fight us, pretty boy?" The leer on his face made Spencer feel sick. "What if we don't want a fight? We just wanna have a good time, that's all."

It took a second for the meaning of those words to kick in. When they did, Spencer's adrenaline fueled body snapped into motion and years of training and experience in fights kicked in. Instead of running sideways, as they would have expected, he dropped low and shot past their legs. The element of surprise was on his side, and he managed to make it past them and a few feet down the hall. If he could just get to the main area there was a chance that someone could come and see him and these guys would back off. They wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything with an audience that could see, or could hear Spencer scream. But before he got too far, someone grabbed his arm in a tight grip. No matter how he yanked, he couldn't break free. Pride be damned, he shouted as loud as he could, praying that someone would come. No one did.

Another person came up behind him, reaching around to grab one wrist and pin it against him while the other hand covered his mouth. In the dark hallway Spencer could barely make them out, but he felt as hands grabbed his feet and his other arm, and then he was hoisted in the air and they were carrying him away. He bucked underneath their hands and tried his hardest to scream past the hand that was muffling him. Even if he had managed to get one out, with the music pumping in the other room no one would have heard him. Still, he tried, knowing that he had to do something, _anything_ , to get help. Images were flashing in his mind of countless cases that he'd worked over the years and reports that he'd read that started like this in some dark hallway in a club. The only thing that did was send his fear higher.

He didn't know where they took him but suddenly the music became more muffled. Amidst loud laughter he found himself being thrown to the floor where he connected with a solid thud that jarred his teeth and made his hip and shoulder throb. The fighter in him had him pushing back up to his feet quickly, refusing to be cowed down. It was stupid, he knew, to show fight to this group, but he'd never been able to bring himself to stay down when bullies knocked him down. He couldn't do it now, either. Not even when he knew this was going to be a beating much worse than ones he'd taken before. Still, he pushed up, trying to look everywhere around him at once. There were tables lying around, and extra stools. A storage room, maybe? Nothing much in the way of weapons here to help defend himself. He wished desperately that he still had his gun at his hip.

The guys were spread loosely around him, blocking his exits, and they looked extremely pleased with themselves.

"Lookee here, boys." One of them joked, laughing at Spencer. "We gots ourselves a fighter!"

"Come here, pretty boy. Let me show you a good time." Another one said.

"Come over here, little girl."

"Over here, baby! Let papa show you some fun!"

The comments came from all around him, voices mixing together so that he couldn't figure out who was speaking and from where. It was a disorienting feeling. Forcing his focus away from that, Spencer kept scanning the room, trying to find a weapon of some sort. The only thing he saw close was a barstool. If he could just get to it, he'd have a something as a weapon. He just needed to distract them a bit. Talking had always been what he was best at. It was time to try and put that into practice. "Listen, gentlemen, whatever you're planning here, I promise you, you don't want to do this." He twisted himself so that he could try and look at them all while at the same time moving just slightly in the direction of the stool. "My name is Spencer. SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, with the FBI."

"Ohh, kid thinks he's some fancy agent." One of the guys said. The smirk he wore showed that he didn't believe it; not in the least. None of them seemed to.

Spencer tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He hadn't really thought that would work. He knew how things like this worked. Big tough guys like this weren't going to believe that someone scrawny like him was FBI. They wouldn't be able to picture that, not with the way he looked. Most likely they were assuming that he was only saying it as a way to get out of this. He'd had to try, though. As he looked at them now, he knew that words weren't going to work. It was time to try other methods.

There was only one other one to try. Spencer knew he didn't have much of a chance but it was his only hope. Praying to a deity he didn't even believe in, he tried to make a leap for the stool.

He'd barely made one step in that direction when suddenly they were on him. His survival instinct kicked in as soon as they grabbed him and he started swinging his fists and kicking his legs at anything that came within reach. It only seemed to amuse them more. Later, it would burn him even more, just how easily they overpowered him. Someone managed to get ahold of his wrist again and Spencer found himself spun around with his arm halfway up his back. The pressure on his shoulder raised him up to his tip toes and brought tears of pain to his eyes.

"Look how feisty he is, boys!" The ringleader called out. He pulled higher on Spencer's arm, until he was barely able to stand and his shoulder screamed for release. Someone stepped in front of Spencer, popping the buttons off the front of his shirt so that it hung open. Mortified, Spencer closed his eyes when someone ran their hand across his stomach, around to his back and forward again. His mortification seemed to amuse them even more. The guy gave his side a squeeze and chuckled. "Skin's as soft as a baby's!" He announced to his friends.

"Please." Spencer tried. It burned at him to beg with these bastards but he couldn't stop himself. Even knowing it wouldn't work, he couldn't stop it. "Please, don't do this."

Something was being moved; Spencer couldn't tell what through the tears of pain that welled up in his eyes as his arm was jerked even higher. Then he was being shoved forward and bent down over a hard surface. His face slammed into it and the coolness of it pressed hard against his chest as he was forced down. Reality kicked in; this wasn't just a beating. This was more than that. The fear of that raced through Spencer's veins. He tried to twist and turn, shouting for all that he was worth, giving up any semblance of pride as he begged them to let him go. He shot his legs backwards, trying to kick the person holding his arm. Again, they all laughed. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head up only to slap him across the face. Spencer tasted blood where his teeth cut the inside of his cheek. The guy slapped him again for good measure.

Hands grabbed at the belt of Spencer's pants and he could feel as they started to unhook it. The sound of their laughter and taunts echoed loudly in his ears. He wasn't screaming anymore, but he still kicked and twisted, fighting for all that he was worth. He ignored the pain in his shoulder; it was unimportant. He had to get free. He had to! Still, despite his best efforts, they managed to get his pants and boxers both down even with his legs kicking. Then someone was grabbing one of his legs and no matter how hard he tugged they still managed to yank it sideways and bind it to the leg of the table with what he thought was his own belt. Someone else was doing the same to his other leg. _God, oh God, please no. Please!_ He didn't realize that the words he was saying in his head were spilling past his lips.

Where were his friends? Where was Remy? Emily? One of them had to have come looking for him by now! They had to be searching for him. They'd realize that it was taking him too long in the bathroom and they'd come find him. They _had to._ All he had to do was hold out until then. That was what Spencer told himself, over and over. He just had to hold out until then. The young genius swung out again with his free arm, trying to find something to hit, anything to do but lie there and take what they were going to give him. But the man behind him just grabbed that wrist too and twisted it so that both of his arms were bent up behind his back. In that moment, Spencer wanted nothing more than to have the powers that his best friend had often lamented having. He wished with everything he had that he possessed the ability to do _something_.

Multiple sets of hands were running over Spencer's bared skin. His stomach rolled as they groped at him, pinching and squeezing without any care, laughing when it made him cry out or twist to try and get away. One of the hands slid down over his backside and Spencer heard the man laugh before he told the others "Nice as a woman, this one!"

"Who wants the first ride on our little lady here?"

No, no, no! Spencer's whole body shuddered with the terror that gripped him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening; not to him! Someone was going to find him. Remy would notice he was gone. He'd come and he'd find him and Spencer wouldn't even protest being the damsel in distress here. Remy was going to find him and rescue him. This wasn't going to happen. Please, God, don't let this happen to him! Maybe…maybe he was too drunk. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink and he was just high! He'd hallucinated all the time back when he'd been on the Dilaudid. Maybe he was just hallucinating now. That had to be it. This was all a dream—a hallucination. It couldn't be real.

He tried to buck his body again, tried to fight what was going to happen, but the hands that held his just pushed upward so that he was forced to stay still or risk dislocating his shoulders.

What happened next felt like it really was a dream. It couldn't be real. It _couldn't_ be. The sound of belts being undone behind him, the feel of something wet slipping onto him— _lube,_ his mind told him, _that was lube—_ and then any chance of it being a dream all faded away as the pain roared to life and Spencer felt as if he were being split in two. The only thing that kept him in place were the hands on his hips and the ones holding his wrists. He opened his mouth to scream, only to find it stuffed with something that muffled what would've been an ear-splitting shriek of absolute agony.

The pain was like nothing he'd ever felt before. There was absolutely no time to adjust to it before the man pulled back and then thrust back in, again and again and again.

Spencer threw back his head and screamed through the gag. He couldn't take it. It was too much. God, oh God, it _hurt_ , it hurt so damn much. He screamed for Remy, for Emily, for Derek and Dave and Aaron, for _anyone_. Anyone to come in here and stop this.

But no one did

The sound of his muffled screams only made them laugh. They mocked him for it, laughing together, the pack mentality taking over. A few of them came up in front of him, hands pulling at his hair, fondling over his face. One man grabbed hold of Spencer's hair and shoved his face into his crotch. If it hadn't been for the gag and the man's jeans, Spencer would've it for all he was worth.

The pain behind him was never ending. It seemed to go on for hours. The only pauses were as one man switched to make room for another. His mind was hazed. He could think of nothing but the pain; hear nothing but their laughing voices taunting him. "Look at him squirm, he likes it!" "Ride that horse!" "God, just as good as any woman! Feel that skin!"

He was dizzy when they flipped him over. He hadn't even realized that they'd unhooked his feet. Then they were being held in the air, and someone was gripping his thighs, sliding into him, and the pain started all over again. The only relief was that now his hands were held on either side instead of jerked up behind him and people were pressing him down on his chest. That eased the pain in his shoulders to a more tolerable level.

They spit on him as he lay there, like he was nothing to them, like he was dirt in the streets. Everything was going fuzzy at the edges for Spencer. His arms were twisted, and he was flipped again, bent this time without the table to hold him up. The man behind him was thrusting so hard Spencer almost fell over every single time. He vaguely heard a sickening pop as one of his shoulders gave way, but he was too far gone to pay attention to it. Everything was pain. What was one more?

How long it lasted he didn't know. Minutes, hours, days. His brain shut down on him, locked away in a safe place. He barely noticed when he was tossed to the ground. A foot connected with his ribs and he grunted, curling around himself. Another foot, then another. Then someone was taking hold of his hair again, pulling his face up to theirs. "You tell anyone about this, pretty girl, and we'll finish what we started with you here tonight. An then we'll visit each and every member of your family. You hear me?"

When Spencer said nothing, the man shook him. "Do you hear me?" he asked, pulling a knife out and holding it in front of Spencer's face. That was enough incentive to have him respond. "Yes." He rasped out through a throat gone sore with screaming.

The man dropped him back to the ground. Someone threw a towel at him, telling him to clean up before he left, and then as quickly as they had found him, they were gone.

* * *

It took a while before Spencer was capable of moving. He lay there, waiting for it all to start back up again, not believing that they were really gone. After ten minutes passed and nothing happened, he opened his eyes and looked around the storage room. They were gone. They were really gone. He felt numb, mentally. One thing clicked into his brain and one thing only. He needed to get out of there—fast.

The room still smelled of blood and sex, and it made him sick.

On trembling feet he finally managed to stand. His backside felt as if a million razors had been shoved deep inside of him and were cutting through him with each move he made. His legs felt no stronger than noodles but somehow he managed to stay standing. When he tried to move his arms, though, the one shoulder screamed loudly in protest. Spencer remembered the popping sound and he knew what had happened. He also knew, from years of bullies and from field training, just what had to be done. Without anyone to help him it was going to be kind of tricky. But in the numb state his mind was currently in, he just planned around it. Mechanically he moved, finding an empty space of wall. He put his back to it, ignoring the pain that flared back to life, and then took a deep breath before pulling forward and then slamming quickly backwards. With a loud, sickening pop, his shoulder slid back in to place. Spencer moaned and almost went down under the wave of pain, but somehow he managed to keep his feet.

How he got through the process of cleaning up, he never really knew. A part of his brain shut down, and he went into autopilot. Mechanically he cleaned up the best that he could, only absently noticing just how red the towel they'd given him now was. It was almost scary, the state of mind he was in. It was like any sense of humanity had fallen away in that moment. He was the scientist, calm and cool, looking at everything from a distance. Seeing it but not feeling it.

He dressed again, mindful of all the sore spots on his body. Since the buttons on his shirt had been popped he wasn't able to close it. But if he was careful, he could hide the bruise that was forming on his side. He disposed of the towel in a garbage can and then straightened back up.

Part of him wanted to race out of the room and go and find his friends. That part of him also insisted that he needed to call 911, report this to the police.

That part was being drowned out by a much louder voice. One that was insisting that he couldn't see his friends like this, that he couldn't let anyone know. _Don't tell them,_ it hissed at him. _Don't say a damn word. They can't know about this! No one can know! What would they say? How would they react if they knew this had happened?_ He was a _federal agent_. He should've been able to defend himself. He should've been able to stop them!

There was only one thing that Spencer could think of to do. Leaning against the wall, he fished his phone out of his pocket, staring down at it. At this little piece of machinery that might've saved him if he'd been able to get to it just a little bit sooner.

His hands shook slightly as he typed out the text message and sent it to Remy.

 _Roar! – SR_

It was an utterly ridiculous text but it was one that Remy would immediately understand. The man had implemented the use of it a long time ago when he'd come to stay with Spencer. It was a way of telling the other person 'Hey, I've picked someone up and we're going to have sex, so don't come to the apartment/motel/hotel'. Basically, it was telling Remy that he'd picked someone up and he was going to go have sex, so Remy should find somewhere else to stay tonight. His friend would understand and he wouldn't come back to Spencer's place.

Sure enough, a second later Spencer got a text back from Remy.

 _;) I'll be at Em's. WTG! – R_

That was all the time Spencer wasted here in this room. His skin was almost crawling with the need to get out of here. Wrapped up and covered as best he could, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and hurried out.

As soon as he opened the door the music was pulsing in his mind again like a wakeup call. Some of the haze lifted from his mind and he stared down either direction of the hall, panic licking at him. What if they came back? What would he do then? He hadn't been able to stop them the first time. There was no way in hell he'd be able to stop them a second time. He had to get out of here, now! He could barely move faster than a stroll, though, or else the pain throughout his body had him gasping.

The idea of going out into the main club had Spencer's heart pounding in his chest. He didn't hesitate to continue down the hall towards the door he saw there that he knew would drop him out into the alley. It brought him outside, far away from anyone and everyone.

He burst through the doors into the cold night air, shivering slightly. It was freezing outside, but he could breathe again. Staring around him, Spencer realized that he was standing outside, at night, by himself. The panic came back again, clawing its way through his stomach, leaving him nauseated. What if they were watching him and waiting? Waiting to come back, to do it again, or to kill him? The man with the knife had been serious, that much had been plain in his eyes. Given the right reason, he would have no problems finishing him off. Spencer's brain easily supplied him with countless cases where the rapists had come back to finish off their victim.

Only by sheer will did he keep the panic down. Gritting his teeth, Spencer forced himself to keep walking, to find his way out of the alley and to the back of the club where he could find a cab, one that was far away from the front of the club where his friends would most likely be finding their own cab. All he could think about was getting home. He had to get home.

* * *

By the time Spencer stumbled his way through his front door, his legs were barely carrying him. His arms shook as he slammed his door shut and quickly did up all the locks. He slid the deadbolt into place and then simply leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. God, he hurt! Every part of him just hurt. Walking in the cool evening air had forced his mind to wake up, and with it, sensation came back in spades. He felt sore, exhausted, and absolutely filthy. He swore he could feel the disgusting fluids that sat on his skin.

Suddenly he shoved away from the door. With jerky movements he shed his clothes, tossing them straight in the garbage can on his way towards the bathroom. Then he headed straight to the shower. After turning the water to an almost blistering heat, he climbed inside and stood underneath the spray. The water washed over him, across his face and down his body. He closed his eyes, so he was unable to watch as the water that pooled in the tub turned a bright red that slowly washed away, fading to pink, then to nothing.

When the tears started he didn't know. But suddenly they were pouring down his face. They burned trails down his cheeks, lost in the spray of the water. Spencer wrapped his arms around his waist as the tears turned to sobs. Each one sent a shaft of pain through him, echoing up from his ribs, but he wasn't able to stop them. His legs melted underneath him and he sank down until he was on his knees, his body bent double with the force of his crying.

God, this wasn't fair! It wasn't right! What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to those men to earn that kind of a punishment? He'd never even met them before! The facts and statistics tried to push their way in but his pain and agony shoved them back out. Facts couldn't comfort him right now. Not when he was shattering into thousands of little pieces.

Their words echoed around him in the shower, seeming to bounce off the very walls. 'Look at her! Isn't she just a beauty?'

How long it took for that part of him to cry itself out, he didn't know. But by the time he got out of the shower, the water had gone lukewarm. He wrapped himself in his robe and limped his way out of the bathroom. After carefully bundling up the bag of trash that held his clothes, and making sure any evidence was gone from the bathroom, he made his way towards his bedroom. He went straight to the bed and climbed in, robe and all. Burying himself under the covers, he stared around the dark room, eyes wide, and mind alert. There would be no sleep that night, he knew.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Now, some of these chapters are probably going to seem OOC for you guys when it comes to Spencer. First off, I want to say sorry about that. But secondly, I'm kind of not sorry. There is no 'right' or 'wrong' way to cope with something horrible happening to you. There is no set in stone way that a person's going to react to a rape like what Spencer went through. You may think that his reaction doesn't seem right for him, but in reality, there's really no telling how he would react. I've known survivors who all reacted in different ways, some of them in ways that no one could've ever predicted. A reaction isn't based off a person's strength or such. Even the strongest can break under an assault like this. So if this seems odd to you, keep that in mind. And if you don't like how he's reacting, I'm sorry._

 _Also, please remember, I don't write death fics, and I always write a happy ending ;)_

* * *

By the time morning rolled around, Spencer was still staring at the walls of his bedroom, his brain unable to turn completely off. There'd been moments of broken sleep here and there through the night. However, what little sleep he'd managed to get had been so full of nightmares that he'd had to force himself to stay awake as much as possible. Awake, the images were still there, taunting him, playing over and over in his mind, preserved perfectly by a memory he had never hated so much as he did right now. But at least when he was awake he could find something to distract himself. Asleep, he was at their mercy.

At some point he knew that he had to get out of bed. They still had to work today, even if Aaron had agreed to let them all have a late start. Work still had to be done. The idea of going into work, though…it left Spencer feeling sick. How could he do it? How could he go in to work with a group of profilers and expect them not to know what had happened? They'd take one look at him and instantly know that something was wrong. And Remy— _Remy_. How the hell was he going to hide this from Remy? He couldn't let him know. There was no way he could let him know. He couldn't let him see what had happened. How _weak_ he'd been. And he couldn't let Remy take on the guilt he knew his friend would. Remy would feel guilty for not coming to find Spencer sooner. For 'allowing' him to drink so much. He'd forget completely that Spencer was a grown man fully capable of deciding how much he wanted to drink. Remy would take on all the guilt for this and Spencer just couldn't let that happen. He couldn't. But how was he going to hide it? How would he keep something like this from his best friend—the person who knew him better than anyone? He was lucky he'd managed to avoid Remy so far. His friend wouldn't come back, he knew, until Spencer sent out the text to give him the all clear. But eventually they'd see one another. How was he going to hide this?

Those thoughts plagued him as he lay in his bed that morning.

How long was he going to have to be afraid? Would this haunt him forever, always taunting him with what he'd gone through and what could happen yet again? Spencer had worked so many cases over the years that involved _this_ —he couldn't make himself say it, couldn't even think the word, not without his heart racing and his stomach trying to climb up his throat—and he knew that people recovered from it. They healed. With time and help, they healed. Right now, that thought didn't comfort him all that much, though.

Finally, there was no choice left for him. He had to force himself to get out of bed. If he wanted to get to work on time, he had to get moving. Even if he didn't feel ready it was time to get up and move and put on a mask.

Moving was a trial all on its own. A night of lying in bed had allowed the bruises to set in even more and his whole body was aching. That feeling was far too familiar; he'd been beat up enough in his life to know far too intimately how it felt the day after a beating. He could almost push down his awareness of those sensations. Even the shoulder, which hurt so damn much, could almost be ignored if he was just very, very careful with it. This wasn't the first time he'd had a dislocated shoulder.

It was the other pain that was the worst.

He'd checked himself in the shower last night, feeling very carefully with his fingers. Going to a doctor would've been the smarter play. There were probably tears that could do with proper medical treatment. The analytical part of his brain told him that. The rest of him quivered in fear at the idea of actually going to a doctor and getting that part of himself looked at. There was no way in hell he could do that. No way. He was a smart man, he could take care of himself here at home. He could minimize the risks and do whatever necessary to expedite his healing. To get through this now, Spencer did something he wouldn't usually dare do. He grabbed some of the painkiller hidden in his dresser, left over from the last time he'd been hurt on the job—pain killers that he'd refused to take before, not wanting to risk his recovery—and he downed two of them dry.

Spencer dressed himself very carefully. His most comfortable pair of slacks, a button up shirt that took twice as long to pull on, and a nice thick cardigan over it all. He needed the comfort of hiding inside of loose clothes as well as needing something that wouldn't push against his bruises too much.

 _I can do this_ , he told himself as he pulled on his clothes little by little. _I can do this._ He repeated that as he took the first step out of his room, out into the hallway. _I can do this._

He made it as far as his closet. He hadn't even grabbed his messenger bag yet, hadn't pulled out his gun, none of it. Standing in front of the closet door, he stared at it, knowing that he needed to grab his things from inside and then go. He might've done it, too, if his ears hadn't caught the faint sound of music thumping suddenly from his neighbor's apartment. That was all it took to destroy any of the resolve that he'd managed to build up and sent it tumbling to the ground. Just the sound of loud music and just like that his brain was back at the club. The blanket that shock had wrapped around him fell away as the flashback took him over. Spencer swore he could almost feel the ache in his shoulders like someone was jerking his arms up again. His breath came in and out in short pants, making him dizzy. God, oh God. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't!

Even with the pain he managed to race to the bathroom. He made it in just enough time to collapse to his knees and throw up. His bruises were screaming and his backside felt like it was burning and stabbing all at the same time, while all the while his stomach tried to climb its way up his throat.

It took fifteen minutes for him to finally get the strength to get up once more. With a supreme effort of will he managed to drag himself up to his feet and rinse his mouth out in the sink.

This wasn't going to work. There was no way he could go around his friends like this. They'd take one look at him and they'd just _know_. They were profilers! And Remy—Remy read him better than anyone else on the planet. All any of them would have to do would be to look at him and they'd know something was wrong. How long would he be able to hold out against them?

What he needed was time. Time to heal, both body and mind. And he wasn't going to get that here.

As soon as he thought it, Spencer knew what he had to do. He knew the only thing he _could_ do.

With a supreme act of will, he dragged his aching body out of the bathroom and down the hall to his bedroom. There, he grabbed a bag from his closet even as he pulled his cell phone out from his pocket. One button and his phone was dialing the number at the top of his list. A second later, a familiar voice came on the line. " _Hotchner._ "

"Hey, Hotch. It's Reid." Spencer set the duffle bag down on his bed and straightened carefully back up. Drawing in a breath, he tried to make his voice steady. "I need a favor."

* * *

Two hours later found Spencer sitting on an airplane bound for Vegas. When everything around you feels like it's going to hell, when your world is crashing down, where else does a person go except home? Even though he hadn't lived here for so very long, there was always a part of him that would consider Vegas home. It was also the last place anyone would think to look for him right now. Not even Remy would think to check here first.

Aaron had been understanding and supportive when Spencer had told him an emergency had cropped up and he needed to use some of his vacation days. The man hadn't pressed Spencer to tell him what it was about; he'd simply asked if Spencer was okay and if he'd needed anything. That was Aaron, through and through. Supportive without being overbearing. He looked out for his team without smothering them. His quiet words had left Spencer with no doubt that the man would listen if Spencer needed to talk. And when Spencer had declined the offer, simply saying that he needed to take care of some things, Aaron hadn't pressed it. He'd just told Spencer to take all the time that he needed.

That had been the easy part. Ditching Remy had been the hard part. Coward that he was, Spencer had done it via text. He'd sent a long message telling him one of the biggest lies that he'd told in a long time. Since his stint with Dilaudid and all the lies that he'd told then to cover his addiction, the young genius had made a promise to himself not to lie to Remy anymore. That promise was shattered now. He'd text Remy and told him that an old friend needed him and he had to go, that it was an emergency, and that he was sorry he wasn't going to be able to visit. Then he'd promised to try and get together with him soon.

After sending that message, he'd shut his phone off. Right now he didn't think he could deal with whatever reply Remy would send.

A few more painkillers had helped Spencer to handle the flight. He hadn't been too happy with taking them, but at the same time there'd been a part of him that was screaming for the relief they brought. They took the pain and dulled it down. Not only that, but they dulled down his head a little, too ,and at the moment that was almost as good.

Even with them in his system, the flight was a lesson in torture. He had to sit on his hip just to get any kind of relief at all. Eventually, despite the fact that he knew it wasn't a good idea to mix alcohol with the medication he was on, he ordered a drink. It was the only thing he could think of that might help numb him just enough to get through this. One helped to steady his hands ever so slightly. Two helped to push down the fear that was eating away at him, and the pain that was still clawing his insides.

Unfortunately, he hadn't calculate quite correctly just how much of an effect it would have on him, the two pills in his system plus the two drinks. When he finally departed the plane in Vegas, he wasn't quite as steady as he would've liked. Steady enough to get himself a cab, though.

Not many people knew that Spencer kept a small condo in Vegas. Not even Remy. Spencer had purchased it years ago; it was one of his getaways. Gideon had always told him it was a good idea to have one or two of those. This, plus the cabin that Gideon had given him keys to, were Spencer's. He did very well for himself financially and purchasing the condo had been easy to do. He was grateful for it now as he let himself into his place. Still, walking into the dark, empty condo was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. After tossing his bag on the floor, he turned on the living area lights and then turned and dead bolted his door and set the alarm.

That should've been enough to ease the nerves that were still so much on edge in him. It wasn't, though. It didn't feel like enough. The fear still sat inside of him and Spencer had no idea how to make it go way.

 _Yes you do_ , a voice hissed in the back of his mind. _You know how to make it go away._

With great effort, he squashed that voice. That was the part of himself that Spencer tried so hard not to listen to. That was the addict that lived inside him, that would always live inside of him. The one that always whispered to him when things got tough. It was harder to ignore now than it had ever been before.

There were only a few ways way he knew to squash that voice when it got this loud. In lieu of working himself to the bone to distract himself, there was only one he knew that worked, as bad as it was.

Spencer made his way to the minibar that was in his kitchen and grabbed one of the bottles of wine without looking at which one it was. It didn't really matter what brand it was at the moment. Honestly, if he had it, he would've taken something much stronger, but this would have to do. A quick use of the corkscrew and he had bottle open. Keeping the open bottle in hand, he picked up his bag again—wincing a little as his ribs and shoulder protested all the movement—and then made his way up to his room. Once in there, he turned the overhead light on as well as the bedside lamps and the light in the master bathroom. He was trembling, he realized. Inside of his own home, the fear was still there. He had been so sure that being away from DC, away from the place it had happened, and in the safety of his home would ease some of that fear! But it gripped him, threatening to turn into a panic attack.

Something creaked out in the hallway, sending Spencer almost flying out of his skin. He turned to stare at the door. Every inch of him was shaking, his mind thrown back to the dark hallway of the club. Rushing forward, he grabbed the dresser by the door and started to push, grunting as his shoulder protested and his ribs were screaming. But he didn't stop until it was completely blocking the bedroom door. Only then did he back away from the door.

The rational part of Spencer was quickly taking a backseat to the terrified part. Was that feet out there? Did he hear footsteps? No, no. No one was here. The condo was always locked and secured while he was gone and the doormen wouldn't let just anyone in. There was no one in there. Still, he watched the door as he backed over to his bed. The bottle of wine was still in his hand. As he sat against the head of his bed, wincing and adjusting until he was on his hip, he took a drink straight from the bottle.

He drank steadily as he watched the door, waiting for the rattle of someone trying to open it. It was there he passed out, still sitting upright, the bottle tipped sideways in his hand and the voices in his head finally quiet. It was the first time he slept without nightmares since the attack had happened.

* * *

One thing that Spencer knew about himself was that he never did well shutting off from the world. It was something he'd known for a long time. He was the type of person who preferred privacy, who liked to be alone, but too much alone time was never good for him. He tended to get trapped inside of his head. That was when he started to do stupid things. That was when he made mistakes—like the Dilaudid. If he'd just opened up to his friends after Georgia, if he'd asked for help, he never would've gotten so addicted. When he was around them it'd been easier to push the memories back and to keep that part of himself quiet. It was when he was alone that his mind went into overdrive and he'd ended up getting himself into that bad place where the drugs had seemed the only way out.

It scared him just how much he felt himself slipping back into that place now.

The first week at the condo, Spencer barely left his bedroom. The only time he went out was to get the takeout he had delivered to his door, or to get yet another bottle out of his wine stock. The alcohol wasn't a healthy coping mechanism, he knew, but he rationalized it by telling himself that it was far healthier than the drugs.

His body healed, but his spirit was still shattered. Shattered and torn apart into so many pieces he had no idea if he'd ever be able to put it back together again. The nightmares haunted him every single night and the fear was slowly starting to consume his days more and more. A part of him knew that he was losing his mind in a way, but there was nothing he could seem to do about it.

The doors on his condo were kept locked and the windows stayed shut. He barely ate anything; in one of his more relaxed moments, he noticed that he was even losing a little weight. He just couldn't quite bring himself to care. There was a small part of him that felt almost _happy_ to see how he looked. _Not so pretty now,_ it whispered.

Spencer knew that his friends were worrying about him. Each time he turned on his cell, he had message after message from them. And though he knew it was stupid, knew that they would only worry more, he couldn't bring himself to answer them. He'd told Aaron that he needed—they could just leave him alone to take that time. The only conversations he had were quick messages to either Aaron or Remy. He sent one to Aaron letting him know he wasn't ready to come back yet, and he sent one to Remy to just tell him that he needed a little more time. Then he shut his phone off once more and locked himself away.

For a full month, Spencer lost himself in a cloud of self-hatred, alcohol, grief, and fear. One full month he hid away there and drank and grieved and tried to find a way to heal.

But when that month was over, Spencer knew that he couldn't hide anymore. He couldn't continue to stay here. If he did, he knew there was a high chance he'd never leave. Or, even more likely, his friends would finally figure out where he was and come after him. He was damn lucky Penelope hadn't tried to track him down yet, or that Remy hadn't come pounding on his door.

His body was healed, even if the rest of him wasn't.

He'd have to leave behind the alcohol, leave behind the safety of his condo here and the quiet little haven that he'd built for himself. He'd have to go back into the real world, back to his job, back to his _life_ , and that thought terrified him.

In the end, the decision was taken out of his hands.

When he turned his phone on to check the messages again, just a little over a month after he'd arrived here, there was a message waiting for him that had been left within the last hour. Spencer listened to it, as he'd listened to countless others. This one, though, was different.

" _Hey, Reid."_ Derek's voice came over the line and Spencer could actually hear the worry in it that his friend was trying to mask. " _Listen, Hotch says that you've been taking some personal time and I respect that, really I do. All of us do. But we could really use your help here, kid. We're on a case in Denver right now, a missing six year old boy, and we're getting nowhere. If the Unsub follows the timetable he's showed so far, we've got another twelve hours to find the boy before he's killed, and the little clues he likes to leave behind don't make a damn bit of sense to any of us. We could really use you on this. Just…give me a call or something, all right?_ "

For himself, for his friends, Spencer hadn't been able to find the strength to drag himself up out of this deep, dark pit he was living in. But for this? For a case? For a missing child?

He was packed and heading to the airport within the hour.

* * *

The flight to Denver wasn't easy on Spencer. For what felt like the first time in almost a month, he was clean, showered, dressed, and sober—and he was surrounded by people. The only consolation he had was that this was a public flight, with plenty of witnesses all around. If anyone tried anything, he'd definitely be able to scream here and everyone would hear him. The fact that this was what he thought of, this was how he felt, scared him just a little and it brought home clearly just how bad things had gotten while he'd locked himself away.

By the time his plane finally arrived, he was riding the edges of a panic attack that was almost set off by the crowded airport. Despite the rain coming down, Spencer was so eager to get the hell out of there, so desperate to get away from all these people, that he bypassed the cabs that waited out front and just set off on foot. He needed to walk. To move. Anything that might burn out the adrenaline that was coursing inside of him in response to his panic.

He hurried down the street and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He barely even noticed the cold. Inside, he was too caught up in his racing thoughts.

The closer e got to the station, the more his worry grew. When it was finally in sight in front of him, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach was starting to churn. How on earth was he going to do this? How was he going to walk in there and talk to them like the past month hadn't happened? These people were profilers. They were bound to see that _something_ was wrong with him! _It doesn't matter,_ He told himself. _None of it matters. Just buck up, Spencer. Duck your head down, get past the other cops, go in there and do your job. That's what's important. There are people's lives in the balance here. People far more important than_ you _._

That little speech gave Spencer the courage he needed. He adjusted his appearance one last time before closing the last bit of distance and heading into the station.

When he got inside the door, he had to fight not to turn around and go right back out again.

Spencer immediately saw his team across the station in one of the conference rooms. The walls were glass, giving him a clear view of them. Aaron was standing in front of a board that was covered in pictures of what Spencer assumed was their missing boy and past victims. He was gesturing and speaking, his typical serious look on his face. Derek was sitting at one of the table with a stack of papers in front of him that he was sifting through, with Emily doing the same beside him. Dave was watching Aaron, apparently debating some point with him. Despite himself, despite everything, just a hint of a smile touched Spencer's lips. This was his team. His family.

With a deep breath, Spencer drew on years of practice, years spent hiding so many things from so many different people, and he pulled on a mask like he hadn't had to do for such a long time. He pushed down all his fear, all his panic, all the grief that still sat lodged like some hard stone inside of him, and he tried to look as if nothing in the world were wrong. Only when he was sure he was as composed as possible did he finally force himself to make his way through the station.

They all looked up when Spencer got close to them. At a different time, it would've warmed Spencer's heart to see the looks of happiness when his friends caught sight of him. He would've maybe flushed a little at just how pleased—even how _relieved_ —they all looked. Right now, he just couldn't feel it. Not if he wanted to keep control.

He stuffed his hands down into his pockets in an attempt to hide just how badly they were starting to shake. He wasn't sure if it was because of the fear, or because this was the longest he'd been sober in quite a while.

"Reid." Emily was almost lit up with the brightness of her smile. She pushed up from her chair and moved to him. It took every ounce of control he had not to jerk back from her. As it was, he barely held himself still for her quick hug, his heart pounding the whole time. _Dirty, filthy,_ his mind whispered to him. _Don't touch her. You're dirty. Filthy._

She pulled back from him, blissfully unaware of the poisonous thoughts making their way through his mind. "I'm glad to see you back."

Spencer took just a small step back. He smiled, hoping like hell it looked real. "Thanks. I'm glad to see you, too." Clearing his throat, he looked over at the evidence board and blatantly tried to turn attention away from him. "So, what've we got?"

It was easier than Spencer had thought it would be to throw himself into his work. As soon as Aaron laid out the case for him, with the little 'clues' that Derek had mentioned, Spencer found himself getting lost in his work the same way he always had. It gave him focus, something to work on and to work towards, distracting him from the thoughts in his head. If he made sure to work in a spot that allowed him to watch the whole conference room, doors included, well, that was his own business.

None of the team really mentioned his absence through the entirety of the case. Spencer threw himself into his work and the team worked just as hard. There was a missing child here; everything else came in a far second to that.

It wasn't until the case was solved, and the boy safely at home, that they could finally turn their attention to their friend.

Spencer knew it was coming. From the minute the case was done, he knew this moment was coming. He'd expected it and tried his damndest to prepare for it. Seated on the long couch at the front of the BAU jet, he tried to mentally prepare himself for what he knew was coming. Still, he jumped ever so slightly when Derek took a seat beside him. He had to fight to keep still and not get up and move away as every part of him rebelled at having someone be so close. _Knock it off! It's just Derek!_ He had to remind himself of that over and over. This was just Derek. Derek wouldn't hurt him. The others wouldn't hurt him, either. None of them would. He was safe here. _Safe_.

Unaware of Spencer's thoughts, Derek smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you back here, kid. We couldn't have solved this case without you."

"I came as soon as I got your message." Spencer said. He swallowed down the lump that was trying to build in his throat. Unconsciously, he pulled in on himself a little more, leaning back into the corner where he sat. The position allowed him to have his back safely against the wall and to be able to watch all of his friends at once. They weren't even pretending to look anywhere else. All eyes were right on him. Sighing, Spencer knew he had to say something. Best to just get this out of the way. "I'm fine, guys. I just, I had a bit of a family emergency, that's all. I needed a little time. But everything's all right now." _Nothing's all right. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be anywhere._ "I'm sorry if I worried you guys."

"We were just hoping you were okay, that's all." Emily told him kindly.

"I'm all right." _I'm not. I feel filthy and sick and I don't want to be here. I don't want to do anything. I just, hurt. I'm so damn tired of hurting._

Something in his voice must've clued them in that he wasn't really in the mood to talk about this. They'd always been pretty good about respecting that with one another. They didn't press. They'd watch, he knew. He remembered that clearly from his stint with Dilaudid. The team would watch him even if they didn't actually say anything to him. "Well, I'm glad you're okay." Derek said, smiling. "But if you need to talk, kid, you know where to find me." That said, he pushed himself up off the couch. When he got to his feet he paused for a moment and looked down at Spencer. Then he lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear it. "You might wanna take some time and call Rem. He's called me a time or two, worried because he couldn't get a hold of you."

Ah, hell. Spencer tried not to grimace and just nodded. "Thanks, Morgan."

The last thing in the world he wanted to do was call Remy. He'd settled for texting the man so far and that seemed to work out fine. There was no one in the world that knew Spencer better than Remy and he had no doubt the man would know in an instant that something was seriously wrong. Even just through a phone. He'd know and he'd come out here and then he'd pry it all out of Spencer and that was the last thing the young genius needed to have happen. He couldn't let the truth come out. He couldn't have his friends know what he'd let happen to him or how far he'd fallen afterwards. _Why?_ That broken part of himself asked. _Afraid they'll tell you what you already know? That you're weak, pathetic. Fitly. Or that you're insane? Hiding in the dark and drowning in drinking and self-loathing isn't normal. Afraid they'll put you in some hospital?_

Drawing his legs up onto the couch, Spencer turned and pretended to stare out the window. In the dark of the plane, no one noticed the tear that slid from his eye.


	3. Chapter 3

After that first case back, Spencer threw himself into his work. Most days the job was the only thing that kept him going. He knew that his team was starting to suspect something. The way they watched him showed just how much they were worrying. That worry grew stronger with each passing day. But any attempts they made to talk to him about it were all brushed off. "I'm fine." He'd tell them. "Quit worrying."

None of them believed him.

He knew he was scaring them. He knew how worried they all were—Remy especially. The only thing that kept his Cajun friend from coming out and pinning him down was that Spencer had very pointedly asked him, in one rare phone call that they'd shared, to give him some time. That he just needed time. Remy hadn't ever been able to really deny him anything and this time wasn't any different. Between that and his own work, which Spencer could see on the news had been very busy lately, it kept him away. How long it would last, he had no idea, but for now he was grateful.

Intellectually, Spencer knew the ways that the assault he'd been through could change a person's life. Emotionally, nothing had ever prepared him for what his life had become.

Most days it felt like he was living only half a life. The only thing that brought any true sense of purpose to him was his job. There, he came to life. He worked harder than ever, as if somehow by saving the lives of all these victims, it made up for the fact that he couldn't even manage to save himself. He put in more hours than anyone except Aaron and he worked with a drive and determination that actually scared his friends slightly. Work was the only place that Spencer came anywhere close to the man he'd been before his attack.

At home, things were…not so well.

Spencer wasn't an idiot. He knew the terms for what was wrong with him. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Depression and anxiety with bouts of disassociation. He knew they were all logical, normal reactions to what he'd gone through, and with proper help and medication they could be treated. And even he could acknowledge that some kind of help was needed. He was scared, all the time, with such strong anxiety sometimes that he didn't leave his apartment unless on a case, and he went nowhere alone when he was out on a case. He suffered from random, illogical bouts of anger that had stunned his friends more than once. He didn't eat properly, definitely didn't sleep properly. He avoided his friends, Remy especially, and was becoming far too reliant on unhealthy methods to cope with things.

His brain knew all of that. It just, didn't seem to matter.

The more time went by, the more Spencer drew in on himself, the deeper his depression grew, and the more worried his friends became.

Spencer felt some days like he was barely holding himself together. Even a trip to the grocery store was a hardship for him. Too many people, too much noise, too many casual touches, and he came home ready to have a panic attack.

Almost six months after the attack, it was because of a trip to the grocery store that things finally came to a head. One single trip to the store that finally started the process of breaking through the stone walls that Spencer had built around himself.

* * *

It'd become habit for Spencer to put off shopping for as long as possible. He was rarely ever hungry anymore; why bother actually shopping when he could just order out on those rare occasions he actually wanted to eat? But he'd finally run out of other household items, like deodorant and shampoo, and that meant he had to brave a trip to the store.

As had become normal, by the time he got back home, his heart was pounding inside of his chest and his hands were shaking. They were shaking bad enough he almost dropped one of his bags as he tried to put it on the counter. As he finally got the bag settled, a wave of anger crested over him. Suddenly he found himself shoving the bag back until it slammed against the wall. Since when had a trip to the grocery store become such a damn ordeal? How had he gotten to this point? How had he gotten so bad that even a trip to the store was an exercise in fear and panic?

The anger faded just as quickly as always and left in its wake a hopelessness that was getting far too strong lately. Spencer stood in the middle of his kitchen and tried to control the trembling in his limbs, the shortness of his breath. He covered his face with his hands as the too familiar emotions washed over him. Inside, he felt like he was coming apart. Like the fine little threads that he'd been holding himself together with were finally breaking. He couldn't think straight, could barely manage to breathe. It felt as if bands were wrapped around his chest, cutting off the flow of air. God, would it ever stop? What had he done to deserve this? Why had they chosen him? Those questions plagued him, never leaving him alone. He dropped his hands to the countertop, staring at the window that looked out over the city. It wasn't the view that he saw, though. It was the image of a dark room, a scratched up table.

Why had they picked him? Why the hell was he the one who had to live with this memory, this fear?

In the decorative mirror hanging above the counter he caught sight of his reflection. The eyes that stared back at him didn't look like his own. They were bloodshot, with dark purple rings underneath them. What had happened to him? Where was Spencer?

For a moment in time he was frozen. In the silence of his kitchen the memory of voices came again, echoing through his brain.

 _'See that, boys? Aint she a purdy one!'_

 _'Come over here little girl!'_

 _'He's a small little thing, isn't he?'_

 _'Almost as skinny as a girl!'_

 _'Nice as a woman, this one!'_

 _'Who wants the first ride on our little lady here?'_

 _'God, just as good as any woman! Feel that skin!'_

 _'Skin as soft as a baby's!'_

With a wild roar, Spencer raised his hand and smashed it into the mirror. Glass flew everywhere, shards of it landing on the counter, on the floor. He didn't notice where it cut open his knuckles from his punch. He grabbed a piece, not noticing the blood already dripping from his hand. All he could think of was their words taunting him. Of their hands running over his body, caressing his skin, touching him in ways that still left him feeling dirty. Almost like he was in a daze, he found himself pulling his shirt off and staring down at his stomach, at the skin that they had _pawed_ at. Was this why they had done this to him? His skin? Because he was small, and soft, and reminded them of a woman? Because he had skin as soft and pure as any woman's skin was? No man had skin like that! No man would be that soft.

The self-hatred rose, gagging him. This was his fault. All his fault.

Well, he wasn't going to let it happen again. He wouldn't! Without pausing to think about it, he dragged that jagged piece of glass across his chest, his stomach, making small shallow gashes. He'd show them soft skin. _Not so soft anymor_ e, that voice inside of him said. Never again!

With a cry of pain deeper than any cut he had made, Spencer dropped the glass to the counter and smashed the rest of the mirror. He grabbed the frame, yanking it off the wall, and threw it across the kitchen. Suddenly he was grabbing anything within reach, throwing them across the room. He didn't notice the tears; never heard the hysterical sobbing. All he could think of was breaking it, breaking all of it.

A noise came from somewhere within his apartment, but it didn't register in his frenzied mind. Not until a pair of hands grabbed his arms in a strong, tight grip. Spencer didn't have time to think or to be rational. Immediately, his body reacted. He swung his hands around as panic devoured him. _They were back_ , his mind screamed. They'd come back for him! Well, the hell if they were going to find him as easy this time! Spencer swung with everything he had, trying to hit whoever it was that had a hold of him. He connected with something, their arm or chest, but the person was still grabbing him, trying to get a grip on his wrists, his arms. That made the panic worse.

He was beyond reason, beyond any thought but that of survival. He would not become a victim again! With renewed strength Spencer kicked his legs out and felt satisfaction when he heard a grunt of pain. The hands holding his arms kept slipping, though he didn't realize that it was because of his blood.

Then a familiar voice broke through some of his haze, disorienting him. "Spencer!" The voice called out sharply. " _Merde,_ Spencer, _arrêtez_! Stop! It's me, cher."

Spencer's body slowed in movement, even if he didn't stop. He knew that voice, didn't he? He knew who that was.

"Spencer!" The voice said again, arms trying to slide around him. "Stop, cher, it's me. It's Remy."

Remy. _Remy_. Oh, God. All of the fight drained out of Spencer in one instant. Oh, _no._ That was Remy's voice. That was Remy who he was hitting; who he was _attacking._ Oh God, what kind of monster was he turning in to? He'd attacked his best friend! Spencer's eyes closed on a wave of grief.

In that moment of defeat, Remy took control of the situation. He wrapped his arms tight around Spencer, holding him even as the younger man sank to the floor. Spencer curled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and rocking. All the while Remy held him and rocked with him. He pulled Spencer in close and pressed his face in against Spencer's hair. "Shh, shh, cher. It's just Remy. I got y'. Y'r okay, cher. I'm here and I've got y'."

"I'm sorry." The words pulled their way out of him. "I'm so sorry, Rem. I'm sorry!"

"It's fine, _bébé_. I'm okay." A kiss was pressed against his hair and then Remy was pulling him in closer. "Talk to me, Spencer. Tell me what's goin' on. What happened to y'?"

"I can't do it anymore. I can't." Spencer sobbed out. He buried his face against his knees and let the tears flow. What little control he'd been holding on to was finally breaking apart. "I'm so tired of being scared. I can't live like this."

"Let me help y'. _S'il tu plait_ , Spencer, tell me what's going on. Talk t'me!"

"I can't, Rem, please. I can't. Don't make me."

Remy buried his face in Spencer's hair, his own body trembling with fear. He had never been more terrified in his entire life than when he had unlocked Spencer's door and come into the apartment. Since there'd been no answer to his knocks, Remy had used his key and let himself in, disabling the alarm with the same code that Spencer always used for the alarm back home. Almost the instant he was inside, he'd heard crashing coming from the kitchen, and screams that had sounded beyond hysterical. Bursting in to the kitchen, he'd found things broken in every direction, glass on the counters and the floor, and Spencer in the center of it all. There'd been tears falling down his face and the sounds that he'd been making would haunt Remy's nightmares for a long time. As would the blood that he'd seen spattered everywhere. All Remy had thought of was stopping Spencer and getting to the source of all the blood. Never had he expected Spencer to attack him. Something was wrong with his friend, this man that he was falling for. Something had been wrong for far too long. He'd known that; it was why he was here instead of staying away as Spencer had asked. Pressing his face against Spencer's hair, Remy fought back his own pain and tried to think of something, anything, that might help his broken friend. "I won't make y', cher, _mais_ please, can't y' confide in Remy? I just wanna help y'."

"No one can." Spencer sobbed. He knew the truth. Maybe, maybe if he'd said something before, maybe they could've helped. But now? "No one can help me. _I_ can't help me." His life stretched before him, an endless cycle of pain and heartache. Fear and hysteria. His life would never be normal again. Never. Those men had taken that from him and he'd let them. He'd let them win by shutting himself away until he broke underneath it all. Spencer knew there was no coming back from this. Not after this episode here. He'd be lucky if he wasn't committed right alongside his mother. _Maybe I deserve it._

Very carefully, Remy unwound himself from Spencer and then climbed up to his feet. Spencer didn't even bother looking up. He was sure that his friend was leaving now. That, after seeing him this way, Remy was going to just leave him here. It was no more than he deserved.

Only, suddenly Remy's arms were around him, carefully drawing him up. Spencer only flinched a little. Mostly, he just let Remy move him, his body like some doll. Remy drew him up and then carefully set him down in one of the kitchen chairs. Spencer stayed there and watched numbly as Remy moved carefully around the kitchen and gathered up some towels. Then he was wetting one down before making his way back over to Spencer. Towels in hand, he squatted down right in front of the genius, eyes focused on the bleeding gashes on Spencer's chest.

A ripple of fear ran through Spencer, harshly forced down. He would not allow himself to be afraid of Remy. Not his Remy. He'd let them take away everything else in his life; he refused to let them make him afraid of the one person he knew he could trust more than anyone else. So he forced himself to hold completely still as Remy picked small glass bits from his skin and then washed away the blood. It was a long, slow process, and neither of them said a word the entire time. When he was done, he used the dry towel to blot them, adding slight pressure until every cut had stopped bleeding. Spencer was left with four gashes at different angles and lengths across his chest and torso and a pretty messed up looking hand.

Part of him was horrified at what he had done. But the larger part for the moment, the part that was broken and slightly crazy, was so glad. _Not so perfect anymore. Not so soft_.

"What have y' done to y'rself?" Remy asked softly. He looked up from where he was still squatting, and his eyes were pools of sadness. "M' sweet Spencer, what'd y' do to y'r beautiful skin?"

Those were the wrong words to say. In an instant the numbness and grief in Spencer was replaced with the same rage that had started this whole episode. Spencer pushed to his feet, knocking the chair over, and he glared down at him. "Who cares what I did?" He snapped out, stalking away from Remy and placing the table between them. Even with his temper suddenly running high, the fear inside ruled what he did. He would not fight with Remy without something between them, or access to an easy escape route. "Don't act like you care..."

"I do care." Remy cut in, pushing slowly up to his feet. His eyes were serious as they met Spencer's. "Y' know I care, Spencer."

Of course he did. But right then, more than anything, he didn't want Remy to care. He wanted to hurt him, to make him so angry he'd turn around and walk right out that door. "I didn't ask you to." Spencer snapped. He couldn't believe the words he was saying, yet he couldn't stop them. "I didn't ask you to care and I didn't ask for your help. I'm fine, all right?"

Remy scoffed lightly as he looked him over. "One t'ing y' aint is 'fine', Spencer. Look what y' did to y'rself! How is dat fine?"

"How is it any of your business?" Spencer shot right back. "If I remember correctly, I told you and that I needed some time. I asked you to leave me alone so I could deal with something on my own. I didn't _ask_ you to come break into my apartment. I didn't ask you to turn into some kind of stalker. I've respected you every single time that you've demanded privacy to deal with things. Did it ever occur to you to show me the same courtesy?"

Internally, Spencer was aghast at what he was saying. None of it was how he felt. But that self-defense mechanism had been triggered, and he couldn't stop it. Even when he saw Remy flinch from his words, the barbs in Spencer's voice cutting at him, he couldn't stop himself. Angrily he gestured toward the front door. Right now all he knew was that he had to get him out of here. That he needed to get Remy to leave. "I want you out, Remy. Do you hear me? _Out_."

"Spencer…" Remy immediately started to protest.

Before the man could get out more than his name, Spencer cut him off with a sharp " _Out!_ "

Remy stared at him, hurt and worry both reflected on his face. Spencer could see the internal war waging with him. The idea of leaving Spencer alone, especially after what he'd seen, obviously felt so very wrong to the Cajun. He watched as Remy straightened up and determination settled on his features. " _Non._ " He said firmly. His eyes met Spencer's and they didn't flinch from him. IN them, Spencer could see that he'd set himself on this. He wasn't going to be moved. "I aint going anywhere, Spencer. I've given y' space fo' six fuckin' months now and I aint doing it no more. Dere's somet'ing going on here and I aint leaving until I find out what it is. I love y' too damn much to do it, y' hear me?"

Those words both warmed and terrified Spencer all at the same time. Drawing back, he did the only thing he could think of, the one thing his brain was screaming at him to do. _Retreat! Run! Run!_ "Fine." He spat out, shifting around Remy, over in the direction of the living room. "Fine. If you won't leave, I will."

He should've known better than to think Remy would let that happen. Spencer barely made it two steps before Remy's hand curled around his arm.

It was obvious Remy wasn't expecting it. Even after their wrestling match just moments ago, he wasn't expecting it. So when Spencer twisted and threw a punch with all his might, his friend didn't have enough time to do dodge it. Spencer's fist caught him right on the jaw and sent him slamming back into the wall and down to the floor. The minute he let go, Spencer was moving, his legs carrying him quickly out towards the living room. He paused only long enough to grab the sweater hanging up in there and to start yanking it on before he was out the door.

Remy hopped up fast, immediately setting out after him, but Spencer was fast. By the time Remy got downstairs, his friend was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Spencer had no idea how long he ran for. He didn't really care at the moment, either. All he wanted was _away_. That had been his only thought. He had to get away from Remy, away from everything. The small sense of control that he'd clung to lately was gone now. He felt raw and exposed, broken and damaged inside, and he hated himself for it. He hated how weak it made him feel. Why was he reacting this way? Countless people went through what he had. They survived it. They lived through it. Why had he broken so badly? Was he really just this weak? More often than not he felt as if he was an imposter, walking around in a skin too small. He felt as if a part of him had died, but his body just hadn't caught up to it yet. It continued to move and breathe and live, while inside his soul was gone. They had stripped him of everything that made him who he was, and reduced him to a quivering mass of fear. How was he supposed to live like this?

Eventually Spencer found himself standing outside a familiar hotel. It was one that he'd come to many, many times before, but that he hadn't been to in a very long time. It was the place he'd come occasionally when he wanted to get high somewhere safely away from his apartment. Somewhere he could be alone for a weekend without worry of Remy or Derek or anyone else stopping by and interrupting him. Where he knew he could sit in his room, high, and not worry about whether or not someone was going to stop by and discover his secret. Apparently his random wanderings had brought him here.

This was as good a place as any to hide. It felt, appropriate, almost. He cast a look up at the sky as he made his way towards the front doors. Dark clouds were building, come in fast from the east. You could almost feel the storm that was brewing. It left a sort of electric feeling in the air.

In a haze, Spencer made his way inside. It was scary just how calm he was as he made his way up to the front desk. He knew he probably looked ridiculous. His pants might still have bloodstains on them, he wasn't sure, and he wore only a sweater on his top half, buttoned and held closed so that no one could see the gashes underneath. But no one said anything about his looks as he ordered a room. Spencer gave them his card and then took the key. He had to force himself to pay attention long enough to get his room number.

No one was around as he rode the elevator to the top floor. Nor was there anyone in the hallway. It was eerily silent. Spencer just walked down the hall to his door and let himself inside. Immediately after entering he went to the mini bar and rooted around for a drink. When he found it, he wasted no time in popping the top and taking a drink straight from the bottle. This numbness was so much easier to deal with than the rest of it. He prayed that the alcohol would help him maintain it.

From the living area he could see out to the balcony, and to the storm brewing out there. He didn't realize when he'd started to move; only that suddenly he was opening the door, stepping out on to the balcony and into the waiting storm. A part of his brain woke. A part that had been shut down for so long. He felt alive in ways he hadn't. Clear minded. With avid eyes he watched the sky. There was nothing like a good thunderstorm. The first droplets of rain splashed down, but he didn't bother going inside. Instead he stood there as they came, faster and faster, until it was a down pour. Within minutes he was soaked, but he didn't care. The water felt good on his skin.

Overhead, the thunder started to rumble. Standing against the railing, Spencer spread his arms, letting the storm fill him. A bolt of lightning lit the sky for one second in all of its deadly beauty. Here, witnessing this, standing in the midst of a raging thunderstorm, he felt alive. He felt human for the first time in almost six months.

So much of his life anymore was meaningless. Each day he went through the motions, but they weren't good enough. None of it was ever good enough. Others had started to notice it and call him on it. What did he care? What did they know? How could they understand what was going on in his mind? He hadn't told them—could never tell them. They would never understand. How could they? You couldn't understand something like that until you lived through it. Until you had to crawl out of the other side on your hands and knees, trying to get back on your feet.

They wanted to judge him for the things he'd done lately. Maybe they were right in that. Nothing he did seemed to help take the pain away; or at least, not for long. Never long enough. Always his mind would go back to that night. One night of his life that would never go away. The one night that had ruined everything, including him.

There was nothing left inside of him anymore but what they had left there. A shattered heart and a torn soul. Pain, always the pain, and fear. The fear that never completely leaves you. The fear that woke you up at night and had you gripping your sheets and biting your pillow to stop yourself from screaming until your voice was gone. It left you trembling when someone looked at you a certain way, or brushed up against you when you least expected it.

They attributed it to nerves, or a paranoia that was a side effect of the drugs they all knew he had started doing again but never acknowledged. He didn't have the heart to tell them that the drugs had once helped control it. They had once taken the fear and brought it to a level he could manage. He couldn't tell them that he had started taking them again not because he wanted to, but because he had needed a way to survive and it had been all he could think of. Nor could he tell them that it wasn't working anymore.

Sometimes Spencer wondered if he was sane anymore. He didn't feel like it. Here he stood, a bottle of Jack in one hand, staring at a thunderstorm in the pouring down rain. He found his eyes traveling over the balcony. Dark thoughts entered his mind—not for the first time. _One quick move and it would be over_.

He stepped up on the bench against the wall, the railing now barely sitting at his knees as he stared down. Through the rain he couldn't make out the ground, but he knew that it was a ways down. This room was on almost the top floor of the hotel. One step, one small jump, and he would never have to do this again.

While the storm raged overhead, another one raged inside of him. Staring at what he felt was his only release, Spencer found himself thinking about the one moment that had brought him here. The one night that had led him to this, and he felt the self-hatred grow. He thought about tonight, about Remy, about how he'd only been trying to help and Spencer had just struck him down. He'd hit the one person who'd been willing to help him despite Spencer's ridiculous insistence that he was fine. What kind of person did that make him?

Spencer turned enough to set the bottle down on the ground. He straightened back up to stare at the rain, the lightening. Thunder boomed, shaking him deep down inside. On legs that were steadier than they had been in six long months, he stepped up further, until he was standing on the top of the stone railing. Only air stood between him and that final release. How easy would it be, to take one final step? Everything that happened, every moment both good and bad, had led him to here. He saw it all, each step taken, each move made. They had all led to this point. Here, there was no going back. This was his moment of courage, his moment to decide. To take that step, that final step; or, to turn around and face his fear so that he could move on with his life.

Was he strong enough for either? Could he step down from here, and move on with his life? Was he capable of taking hold of the hand that Remy was extending to him? To do that he would need to accept things as a part of life that couldn't be changed. And that…Spencer didn't think that he could. So much of him felt broken. Maybe if he'd had the strength to tell someone about what had happened, he might have been able to heal. But no, things were too far gone now. The fact was he _had_ been silent about it. He _had_ kept it a dirty little secret. Now, because of that, he was alone. This was how it was meant to be. This was the only way out.

Spencer spread his arms wide as the thunder boomed, one roar after another. It deafened him, so that he couldn't even hear the rain fall. But he felt it and smiled. It was as if the sky was crying the tears that he was no longer able to shed. The very heavens were mourning for him.

With a final sigh, he took a step into the open air; into freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

For one brief instant time seemed to stand still. Every sense Spencer had was on overdrive. He felt each individual droplet of rain hitting him. He heard the thunder that was shouting at the world. Lightening lit the skies around him. Yet inside, his heart felt peace. He smiled to himself, knowing that soon, it would all be over.

But something intruded on that single moment for him. A thing that was unexpected and that changed everything.

Something grabbed his hand, around his wrist, and held on tight. Already having stepped over the edge, Spencer swung down, the weight of him and the grip on his wrist causing him to slam into the side of the balcony. Stars danced in his vision and his ears rung so that he couldn't hear the voice calling to him at first. But as his mind cleared, he could hear again. Still, it took him a second longer to recognize that voice.

"Spencer! _Merde_ , Spencer, hold on t'me! Don't y' let go! Y' hold on t'me, y' hear me?"

Was that Remy? Spencer looked up but he could barely see through the rain. All he could see was the hand that held his wrist so tightly, refusing to let go of him. "Remy?" he asked in a voice so soft he didn't expect an answer.

"Who de hell else y' expectin' to stalk y'r ass here?" Remy's voice snapped at him. "Y' aint dying on my watch, y' hear me? I got y' and I aint fuckin' lettin' go, Spencer, so don't y' dare let go either. Grab m' hand, Spencer!" The grip around Spencer's wrist tightened. "Don't y' dare fall, y' hear? Y'r not allowed t'fall. I won't let y'! Now grab m' fuckin' hand!" There was terror and pain in his voice. It broke Spencer's heart to hear it. He hadn't wanted to hurt Remy any more than he already had.

"Let me go, Remy. Just let me go."

"Like hell!" That hand tried to pull him up, but the rain had slicked their skin and when Remy pulled, Spencer's hand slid a little. So Remy was forced to hang there, clinging for dear life, unable to do anything. Terror was hot and slick in the Cajun's throat. He couldn't explain the emotion he'd felt when he'd come into the hotel room after tracking Spencer down, determined to make damn sure they finally had this out, and he'd seen the open patio door. Then the lightening had flashed and he'd seen Spencer standing there, arms spread to the storm, on the edge of oblivion. He'd barely made it to him in time.

Spencer's other hand swung up, trying to grip over Remy's fingers and force them to let go. "Let me go, Remy." He said again. With a growl, Remy reached his free hand down and snagged Spencer's other wrist. "Fuck dat, and fuck y'!" Remy said sharply, bracing his knees into the stone wall. He ignored the pain there as the wall scraped his knees through his jeans. All he could focus on was Spencer, dangling in the open air. If he lost his grip now, then all hope was lost. "Dammit, Spencer, I aint lettin' y' die! I aint lettin' go! Y' wanna go over? Den I'm goin' too!"

That seemed to snap Spencer's attention back to the forefront. He stared up at the dark shadow he knew was Remy and realized that Remy was telling the truth. He had a grip on Spencer's arms that was like iron. That meant that the only way Spencer was going down would be to pull Remy over with him and the hell if he was going to do that. This was his death wish; no one else's. A flash of lightening illuminated them both, and in that moment Spencer could see the determination on Remy's face.

Spencer twisted his hands so that he could get a grip on Remy's wrists as well, strengthening their hold. He swung his legs, scrambling to find a way to brace them against the balcony wall. One foot braced against the wall long enough for him to push up, then it slipped off the wet stone again. But that had given Remy a little help, just enough of a boost, and he managed to pull Spencer up a little farther, their joined hands right at the edge. "Grab the edge!" Remy shouted over the next boom of thunder. Lightening lit the sky. Guided by its second of light, Spencer flipped his hand and grabbed hold of the edge of the balcony. That freed one of Remy's hands to reach back and grab first his arm, then, as Spencer scrambled up to the edge, Remy grabbed the loops on his slacks and yanked him back over to safety.

The two tumbled to the hard ground, both of them soaking went and panting.

"Y' son of a bitch." Remy cursed between gasps for air. "What de fuck were y' doing?"

Spencer didn't answer. He simply lay in the rain. At this, too, he had failed. Was this the end of it, then? Was he doomed to live the rest of his life in fear and pain? Never again to be happy? Somewhere in his life he had done something and this was his punishment. That was the only thing that he could think of to explain everything. He was doomed to live the rest of his life this way. But oh, God, it hurt so much. "Why couldn't you let me die?" he whispered.

Quick as a snake strike, Remy shoved Spencer away from him. "What de hell is de matter with y'?" Remy sat up, shouting as he did. "Are y' outta y'r mind?"

"You should have let me die."

In those six words was all the pain that Spencer felt. It was so strong and so sharp that Remy just stared at him. Even after witnessing the kind of scene he had earlier, this level of pain in someone he'd always seen as so strong was still incomprehensible to him. What had happened to this man? Where was the man that Remy had been falling in love with? He ached to reach out and hold him. Just to wrap Spencer in his arms and tell him that everything would be okay. But he couldn't promise it and Spencer wouldn't want to hear it. Through all their years around one another, Remy had learned well when Spencer would best respond to warmth and kindness, or when he needed someone to be strong and firm with him. Right now the last thing he needed was Remy breaking down on him. He needed his friend to be strong.

"De hell I will." Remy told him firmly. Then he started to push himself up to his feet. "Let's get up and get inside so we can get dry, yeah? I'm fuckin' frozen here."

The way that Spencer moved as he stood up, as if he was exhausted, tore at Remy's insides. His friend looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Spencer felt as if he did. He couldn't force himself to stand straight and could only shuffle as he went into the hotel room. What was the point in fighting this anymore? He'd be lucky if Remy let him out of his sight. At least, until he called the cops and had Spencer committed. There was no doubt in Spencer's mind that Remy would do that. What else did you do when you saw someone step off the top floor of a hotel balcony? Soon, everyone would know that Spencer Reid, son of a paranoid schizophrenic, had tried to kill himself. Everyone he knew would be privy to his shame. Spencer wouldn't be able to hold his head up anywhere ever again. He'd be shut away, locked up just like his mother. And in that moment he didn't think that he could really blame them.

Lost in thought, Spencer never heard Remy come up behind him. He didn't realize he was there until suddenly hands were on his shirt front, trying to help undo the buttons. Panic kicked in like a flash and Spencer scrambled backwards, tripping over the coffee table and sprawling out on the floor. Halfway down his brain started working again and he realized that it had just been Remy trying to help him. By the time he hit, he already knew he'd overreacted. Through tear filled eyes he looked up at Remy's face. There was anger and concern there as well as heartache and a tiny amount of hurt. The hurt was what did it for Spencer. It was the final little piece. Laying there, staring up at his best friend, he lost the battle with his tears. They flowed freely down his face. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't fight it.

Remy made a small distressed sound as he moved over and crouched in front of Spencer. Very carefully he made sure to keep his distance. Spencer was pathetically grateful for that. Remy knelt just close enough to be there for him without crowing him. Then, he spoke in a voice so gentle it brought the tears on even faster. "Spencer, cher, _s'il tu plait,_ can y' talk t'me? I just wanna help y', _mais_ I can't do it if y' won't tell me what's going on."

All of Spencer's defenses had been stripped away. He was raw and exposed and it showed in his voice. "I can't, Rem. I just, I can't. Please." Then, so soft Remy almost didn't hear him, he whimpered. "I don't want you to hate me." IT seemed so silly to think that, considering what Remy had just seen. But Spencer didn't know if he could handle Remy looking at him the way that Spencer looked at himself.

Surprise flashed over Remy's features. Then, pain. "Spencer…y' idiot. I'd never hate y'. Don't y' know dat by now? Dere aint not'ing y' can say t'me dat's gonna make me hate y'. _Nothing_."

But Spencer was already shaking his head. The tears were coming faster now, burning trails down his cold cheeks. He couldn't believe Remy's words. Why wouldn't Remy hate him? Spencer hated himself so much already, he couldn't see how any else wouldn't hate him as well. "You can't say that." He whispered. "You don't know, Rem. You don't know what I let happen. What I've done since then. You don't know any of it."

"Den tell me." Remy insisted. His hands twitched like he was fighting the urge to reach out. His eyes were almost glowing, the red in them brighter than Spencer had ever seen. "Let me help y', Spencer. Whatever dis is, y' aint gotta be alone with it. Let me help y'!"

As he stared at his best friend, someone that he'd come to realize he loved more than anyone else in the world, Spencer knew that he had to tell him. As much as it would hurt, he had to. Nothing else was working for him. He had tried to hide it but it ate at him like a cancer. He'd tried to drown it under drugs and alcohol but they were losing their effect on him. Then he had tried to end it and Remy had intervened. What did he have to lose now? Every other route had been tried.

Spencer looked up into the eyes that he had once been able to lose himself in. This was the man that he had been falling in love with a lifetime ago. At one point in time, if anyone had asked who he would trust more than anyone else, Spencer would have answered 'Remy' without hesitation. Maybe all of that was what made it so hard for him to say this. No one else's opinion mattered more. Still, he had already alienated him so much; it was amazing that Remy was still there.

"Six months ago." Spencer started, and then paused to wipe off his face. His hand trembled, so he tucked them both under his arms. "We were, uh, at the club. Celebrating the, um, the end of the case. You'd just come up to visit. We'd all, ah, we'd all been drinking, but we were ready to go home. I…I went back to the bathroom, remember? Before we were going to leave. I was drunk and I couldn't hold it until we got home. So, so I went to the bathroom." A pained sound tore from him and he dropped his head down. "Stupid. I should've just waited until I got home. But I, I had to go, so I went. When I…when I came out, well, I wasn't paying any attention to where I was going. It was dark and I, I was stumbling a little. I didn't see anyone coming until I actually bumped into someone."

Here, Spencer paused, closing his eyes. Memories were washing over him like waves. The trembling spread from his hands until he was shaking lightly from head to toe. Remy wanted to offer him comfort, to do something, but he was afraid that if he made a move to him now or tried to touch him that Spencer would close up once more and this opportunity would be lost. So Remy held his tongue and he waited, a bad feeling in his stomach.

After a few tense moments, Spencer continued. "They uh, there was a group of them. Six. I tried apologizing to them, but they didn't want to hear it. They just, they surrounded me and ignored what I was saying. They were talking about how, how skinny I am. Small. Like a girl. I told them I didn't want any trouble." Spencer's voice cracked on the last word. He bowed his head down slightly. "They asked me, what if they didn't want a fight. 'We just wanna have a good time, that's all.' I didn't know what they meant at first. God, I was so stupid. I tried to duck down under them, cause they weren't expecting it, and I tried to run."

What came next was one of the hardest things that Spencer had ever done. With a shaking voice, he told Remy everything. Every single bit of it. Once he got going the words just sort of tumbled out of him. He found himself giving more details than he'd planned on. All of it, every taunting word, every aching bruise, every moment of pain and humiliation, all of it was laid out bare right there for Remy to hear. By the time that Spencer looked up again, he wasn't the only one that was crying. It broke his heart a little to see the tears pouring unchecked down Remy's cheeks. "Oh, Spencer." Remy whispered, voice thick with grief and tears.

"I was so scared, Rem." Spencer whispered back. His own voice had gone slightly hoarse. "I'm still so scared, all the time. I can't sleep, I can't eat. I go to bed and I hear them. All around me I hear their voices, taunting me. Always talking about how soft my skin is, how much I'm like a woman. I dream about them. About what they did, about what they'd do to me if I gave them up for this. If someone touches me and I don't know it's coming I feel like I'm going to come out of my skin." Shame washed over him and he bowed his head down, closing his eyes. In a soft voice, he bared it all, whispering the one thing that he knew his friends suspected and yet another thing he'd never admitted out loud. "I've been using again. Not as much as before, but some, when the alcohol doesn't help anymore. It takes the edge off for a little while and it takes the fear away for a short time, so I can breathe. But it always comes back."

He could hear the realization in Remy's voice as he said, "That's why you were cutting yourself at your house. Why you broke the mirror."

The shame in Spencer only grew at that, though there was small swell of pride. Pride that he wasn't so perfect anymore. Wasn't so soft. "I can't look at myself. I don't see me anymore. All I can see is what they made me be. I see my face, my skin, and I hear them talking about its softness. I don't want to be like that anymore. I thought, well, I'd show them soft." A bitter sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob slipped free. "It was satisfying. It's always a little satisfying." Spencer uncurled a little, rolling his pant legs up to show his legs. Horror filled Remy's stomach when he saw the cuts that were everywhere on his skin.

"Ah, cher." He mumbled, one hand automatically extending out towards him. The cuts were of different ages; some looked fresh and some looked older, though not by much. " _Mon amour_. M' poor, hurt _bébé_." He looked up, eyes locking with Spencer's, and the intensity burning there held him. "I wish I could take dis away fo' y'. I wish y' would've told me."

"I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell anyone."

"I know dat feelin'." Remy said softly. And Spencer knew that he did. Though Remy had never come out and said any of it directly, Spencer had his suspicions. That comment only confirmed it. He could see the truth of it in Remy's eyes. "I know what it's like t'get lost underneath dis, cher, an I know how hopeless it feels. I did it alone an dere's some days I don't know how de hell I did. _Mais_ , y' aint alone, and y' aint gotta do dis alone. I'm here, Spencer. I wanna help y'. I don't…I don't wanna lose y'." Now it was Remy who bowed his head down for a moment. A shudder ran down his body. "I though f'sure I'd lost y' dere. Dat I wouldn't be able t'hold y' long enough t'get y' up. It scared de life outta me."

The guilt that caused just added to the already messed up mix inside of him. Spencer watched Remy's face as it slowly lifted to his again and he found himself asking "What am I going to do, Rem?" Spencer stared at him and knew that if he had to start to trust someone, Remy was the person for it to be. He pushed all of his fear as far down as he could and let his feet slide out until they bumped against Remy's leg. He needed that physical contact right then, but this was the only way he was able to take it. He couldn't touch or be touched, and he couldn't hold hands. The feel of hands on his hands, or on his wrists, almost always triggered a panic attack. He was lucky that he hadn't had one yet. "I don't know what to do anymore."

The way that Remy was looking at him said clearly that he understood just how big a step that had been for Spencer. It said he knew how big this was, the trust that Spencer was giving him, and he gave Spencer a small nod to show he understood. Then, with the control that Spencer had always admired and envied, Remy drew himself up, steadying himself until he looked in control once more, even with his cheeks still wet from tears. "Fo' t'night, we're gonna sleep on it. In de morning, we're gonna call Aaron…"

"No!" Spencer jerked back into the fetal position and his eyes grew wide. "I can't tell anyone else, Remy. I can't!"

Remy kept talking as if Spencer hadn't interrupted. "…and we'll tell him dat y'r gonna take some personal time. Den y' and I are gonna head out to m'place in New York an we're gonna get y' de help y' need. We're gonna get y' clean an sober, an y'r gonna talk t'someone dat can help y' work through dis. We're gonna help y' heal, Spencer. I didn't save y' t'night just t'end up losing y' again."

There was such confidence in Remy's tone that Spencer almost found himself believing it. He'd tried so many other ways, unhealthy ways, and they weren't working. Why not do this Remy's way? "I, I don't know if I can stay at your house, Rem. I could stay at a hotel nearby, though."

"After watching y' walk off a balcony, Spencer, y'r damn lucky I'm nice enough t'not check y' and I in t'some private rehab center somewhere." Remy said seriously. "I know y'r gonna have limitations on what y' can handle, and I swear I won't push dem. _Mais,_ I aint leavin' y' alone until y' start t'heal. I aint risking anyt'ing like dis happening again."

Spencer didn't bother trying to argue it. What was the point? He didn't have the energy to try and he knew Remy would win in the end anyways. Spencer was just too damn tired to even put in a token protest. Almost as if in testament to that, when Spencer closed his eyes the world seemed to spin. He must have swayed, because Remy was there, that scent that belonged to him was so close. "Let me help y' to y'r feet, Spencey. We'll get outta dese wet clothes an in t'bed. Please, _bébé_ , trust me t'do dis."

It was the only choice he had. Spencer forced his body not to flinch too hard when Remy helped him stand. He had a feeling the exhaustion was the only thing that allowed him to actually strip out of his wet clothes with Remy right there beside him. Though Spencer hadn't left the house with a bag, Remy was still somehow handing him a pair of sweats and a shirt. Spencer just shrugged before pulling them on. Then Remy was leading him to the bed and even tucking him in, whispering "Go t'sleep, _mon amour. Fais do do._ I'll be right here watchin' out fo' y'."

Through half lidded eyes, Spencer watched as Remy tossed a blanket on the couch. He disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes before he came back out, stripped down to a robe, his coat slung over his arm. Nervous, Spencer watched Remy climb on to the couch and tuck underneath his jacket like a blanket.

For an hour Spencer lay there, listening to Remy sleep. Finally he managed to drift off as well. For the first night in a long time, he slept through the nightmares. They weren't gone, but they were easier to manage, easier to sleep through.

* * *

Remy woke only a few hours after going to sleep. Life had taught him the ability to fall asleep at the drop of the hat and to function on minimal sleep. All he really needed was a few hours here and there, even if he liked to get a whole lot more. People back at the mansion liked to joke that Remy was part cat, sleeping anywhere and everywhere, and they joked about how lazy he was. In reality, he could function off of a few hours of sleep, and probably function better than most of them. He just didn't feel the need to advertise it.

Still, he probably could've slept a little longer if it weren't for the dreams that had haunted him, his own memories dredged up by Spencer's story, and a too vivid imagination putting pictures to the horrifying words his friend had uttered. So now Remy lay awake, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about everything he'd learned tonight. His mind was piecing together everything Spencer had said with his own private worries lately and coming up with an image that was even more heartbreaking than before. With all the facts now in, he could see the whole downward spiral of his best friend from start to finish.

Most prominent beside his grief was a profound sense of anger. Anger that Remy directed at himself. How the hell could he not have noticed this? How hadn't he realized that Spencer's text that night had been a fake? Hell, how had he not gone and found the man when it'd taken him so fucking long to get back from the bathroom?

All the what-ifs and should've-could've-would've kept circling round and round in his head. Not just for himself, but for the BAU team as well. Remy hadn't been the only one worried lately, but he'd been the only one to push the issue. These people worked with Spencer. They'd been by his side for most of the past six months. How had they all let this slide?

As his friends they'd all dropped the ball big time on this. Remy was going to help fix it, though. There was no way he was going to abandon Spencer to deal with this on his own. The man had been left alone for far too long. It was time someone took care of him the way he'd always taken care of everyone else.

The first order of business was to get the time off arranged for Spencer. There was no way in hell he needed to be working right now. Not with how broken he was. It wasn't good and, really, it wasn't safe. In the state of mind that Spencer was in, the last thing he needed was to be out somewhere handling a gun. He doubted that Aaron or the others would be all that happy with Remy just whisking Spencer away; not that he really cared. Let them be angry about it. Let them worry. They'd all had their chance and they'd blown it. They had to be careful, he knew. Plausible deniability and all that. It was the same reason they'd given when they'd kept quiet about his 'suspected drug use' last time. But this… this was so much more important than that. Remy had absolutely no doubt in his mind that if he left Spencer here with them all, the man wouldn't survive another six months. If, by some miracle, he was still alive at the end, he'd be a shell of his former self and they'd lose him anyways.

Ever so carefully, Remy climbed off of the couch and fetched his phone from the end table. He kept his eyes on Spencer with a prayer that he wouldn't wake him. It sounded as if Spencer was whimpering in his sleep. The thought broke Remy's heart. He now knew, very vividly, what it was that Spencer was dreaming about.

Wrapping his coat around himself, Remy made his way over to the patio. The very same one that he'd been fighting for his friend's life on just hours ago. It felt strange to stand out there now and light a cigarette like this was just any other place. Like he hadn't stood at that railing and fought to hold on to the one person in the world who meant more to him than anyone else.

Deliberately, he put his back towards the railing, leaning against the doors just enough to be able to see Spencer inside the room. He kept the door closed so that his conversation would stay private just in case the other man woke up, though.

It only took a few rings for Aaron to answer. " _Hotchner_." The slight edge of sleep to his voice reminded Remy that it was actually rather late. Too late to worry about that, though.

"Hotch, it's Remy. Can y' wake up a bit? We need t'talk."

The seriousness of Remy's voice must have come across loud and clear. Aaron's voice was suddenly more alert and Remy could just picture the way he would be sitting up straight with that sharp edge that had come from years in this line of work. " _Is Spencer all right_?"

The fact that he asked that first and foremost took away a tiny bit of Remy's anger. He took a drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke back out on a breath that was more like a sigh. " _Oui et non._ He's alive an sleepin right now. Dat's de best we can hope for."

" _Did he talk to you_?"

" _Oui_." Pausing, Remy tapped out a bit of ash from his cigarette. "Y' know I can't tell y', Hotch. I can't betray him like dat. It took a helluva lot fo' him t'open up an tell me. I can't turn around and tell y'."

" _I don't need you to_." Aaron said immediately. " _Just, tell me what you need._ "

"Time. I know dat Spencer went on leave a few months back an I'm not sure how many days he's got comin' to him, _mais_ he needs time, an I aint sure how much."

" _Leave it to me. Don't worry about how much time he needs; I'll cover with Strauss as long as we have to. I can make up something._ "

Gratitude swelled inside of Remy. "Merci, Hotch."

" _Of course. Just, take care of him for us, okay? Whatever's going on, just keep him safe_."

Hanging up the phone, Remy prayed that he'd be able to.

* * *

 _Merci for all your support, everyone. Keep letting me know what you think of things as I put more chapters out! I love to hear your feedback :)_


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning found Spencer in a sort of fog. The previous day's events seemed to have drained him down to almost nothing and he couldn't quite seem to focus on anything. It was as if telling Remy his story had left him hollowed out on the inside. He felt empty and without energy. Like a zombie. He didn't even question it when he found that Remy had somehow managed to get his go-bag here for him. After so long spent holding himself tightly together, keeping all of his secrets locked away inside, letting them all out had just drained him. It'd drained him in a way that wasn't going to be recovered from just a single night of broken sleep.

When Remy told him that he'd booked them a flight to New York, and that it left within the next two hours, the only feeling he could drum up about it was a small sense of panic at being in a crowd like that. Still, he said nothing. He didn't even notice the worried look that crossed Remy's face the longer Spencer stayed silent.

Spencer didn't see the point in speaking up, anyways. It wasn't like he really had to do anything. Remy had everything arranged. He had Spencer's bag, all ready to go, had their flight all set. He even took care of things as they made their way through the airport. Spencer didn't have to do anything except walk along at Remy's side. The Cajun took care of everything. He even made sure to keep Spencer somewhat sheltered from the crowds.

In a sense, Spencer felt kind of like he was drugged, only he knew he wasn't. He didn't fight it, though. He let the fog embrace him and left himself in Remy's capable hands.

It would've been sweet if it had had anything to do with trust. But Remy wasn't foolish enough to believe it did. This wasn't Spencer trusting Remy to take care of him. This was Spencer so exhausted, with nothing left to give, that he couldn't even muster up the energy to worry about what might happen to him. He just didn't care right now.

That lasted through the entire flight. The fog stayed with him right up until they showed up at what Spencer was surprised to see was a house, an actual house with a yard and everything, and not a condo like he'd been expecting. It was seeing the house, going inside of it, that brought home just what was going on here. It brought the realization that they he was going to be alone, completely alone, in a house with another man. Not a condo, with neighbors nearby. Not a hotel/motel, with rooms right next to theirs. A house. A house with neighbors far enough away they might not hear him when he screamed. Not that he thought Remy would hurt him; of course not! But…what if someone else came here? What if someone came in at night, in the dark, when he was sleeping?

God, he needed to get himself under control! He needed a drink or something to take the edge off of things. After everything yesterday, he didn't have the strength to cope with this on his own. Using drugs or alcohol as a cushion wasn't healthy, he knew, and was extremely dangerous, but they'd helped him get this far. Spencer hated it, but he knew if he just had a drink, he could mellow enough to stop thinking these things. "You uh, do you have anything to drink around here?" Spencer asked as Remy led him into the house.

Without batting an eye, Remy nodded. " _Oui_ , we should. I called up Stormy last night an she came on out an set t'ings up fo' me. Made sure de house was all stocked with food an such." He set the bags down just inside the entryway and then leaned against the wall, watching Spencer as the young genius moved through the living room. "We should have some milk, or some OJ. I know y' love OJ. Dere's always water, too."

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip and tried not to wring his hands. His wrist gave a small throb; the bruise there from Remy's lifesaving grip had grown deep overnight. "I was thinking something a little more, well, a little harder than that."

" _Désolé, mon amour._ I had Stormy get rid of all de alcohol b'fore we got here."

That had Spencer stopping. He turned to stare at Remy. "What?" he asked. Shock had his eyebrows winging upwards.

Remy arched an eyebrow but otherwise didn't move. "I had her take it away, cher. De last t'ing y'r gonna get from me is a drink, Spencer. Y' should've known dat. I aint gonna encourage it. Y'r gonna start facing dis without being under de influence. It's de only way y'r gonna ever work past it." Remy said all of this calmly, as if it was nothing. Like it was no big deal that he was taking away the only crutches that Spencer had. The young genius wasn't quite able to believe it. Not a drop of alcohol? Didn't Remy understand what he had told him? Without any of that he could barely manage to make it through the day!

He took a deep breath and tried for patience. Really, he did. It was hard to find under the fear. "Look, Rem, I appreciate your help, really I do. I agreed to come here and to see the person you want me to speak to. That's more than I ever wanted to do. But, I'm an adult and I'm entitled to have a drink if I so choose."

Remy shrugged one shoulder and continued to stare calmly at him. " _Désolé,_ Spencer. It sounds harsh, _je sais._ _Mais_ y'r gonna have t'learn t'cope without it."

Panic slid its way in, giving Spencer a bitter taste in his mouth. He could feel the trembling in his hands, always a bad sign. "I just need one drink right now, that's all. It was a long flight, and I just need to unwind with a drink." The tremors were now in his arms as well. Spencer crossed them over his chest, trying to contain it. "Please, Rem."

" _Non_ , Spencer."

Spencer gave up all pretense of trying to hide just how bad his drinking was when he felt the tightness building in his chest. "I can't do this without a drink, Rem. I can't be here, alone, with someone and not have something to calm me down. Don't make me do it, please." He hated himself as he said those words. Hated how weak he was, how pathetic he sounded. He _hated_ it. But he couldn't stop it.

There was compassion in Remy's eyes when he looked at his friend. " _Je suis désolé_." was all he said.

The panic in Spencer grew until he felt like he would collapse underneath it. With quick, jittery movements he darted to the cabinet in the nearby dining room. Nothing. "There has to be some." He mumbled to himself. He moved to the kitchen, rifling through cupboards. Nothing. Damn it! Ignoring Remy behind him, Spencer opened the fridge and the freezer. No bottles hidden in there.

He didn't stop to think about how insane he probably looked at the moment. His fear was getting stronger and he could feel the panic attack building. There were only a few limited ways to deal with that and one of them wasn't possible at the moment. The other, the second best, was alcohol. Spencer knew it was wrong and weak and he hated himself for it but he had to do something. _Anything_. Just so long as it got right of the panic clawing at his insides.

If someone really had come in to take care of things for him, if they'd thrown away the alcohol, there was a good chance they might've thrown it away, and that the garbage would still be in here. Spencer abandoned his dignity and darted to the trash can. He started to dig through as his vision grew hazy at the edges and his air began to whistle. A pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him back from the trash, and his panic kicked up a notch.

Remy pulled backwards in an effort to get Spencer away from the garbage. It took all of his weight to hold Spencer back, but the force of their struggling sent them to the ground. Spencer fought like a wild thing in his effort to escape; he kicked and clawed and twisted to try and get free. Even Remy could hear his wheezing now. He tried to whisper soothing things in Spencer's ear as he held him. It didn't matter, though. Nothing was getting through. Spencer was too far gone in the panic attack to think rationally at the moment.

Didn't Remy understand that Spencer needed this? Didn't he understand that this was important? Without a drink, without _something_ , Spencer wouldn't have made it as long as he had. He was weak. He couldn't do this on his own! Spencer bucked his whole body, but Remy's grip stayed firm. There was no way that Spencer was going to get free. That thought hit him with the force of a sledgehammer and took the fight right out of him. As abruptly as the mania had come on him, it left, and Spencer found himself clutching Remy's shirt instead of pushing away from him. The tears came and boiled over. He could hear this strange sound and it took him a moment to realize that it came from him. That it was him, sobbing. As he broke, Remy's grip changed from restraining to comforting.

"I can't do it!" Spencer gasped out. The words tasted like bile on his tongue. "I'm not strong enough. I need a drink, Rem. The fear gets too much, I can't contain it. Please!"

Remy pulled him in a little closer and Spencer could actually hear the grief in his voice now as the man apologized to him. " _Je suis désolé, mon chou._ I can't let y'. I wish I could, _mais_ I can't."

He cradled Spencer's head against him. In the middle of the kitchen floor Remy rocked his friend as they both cried.

* * *

The crying jag had left Spencer drained. It took what little energy he had left just to be able to walk upstairs to the room Remy had ready for him. Even then, he needed Remy's assistance to make it up the staircase. Halfway up he noticed that Remy was touching him, holding him up, and it didn't add on any fear to what was already there. He actually didn't mind Remy touching him. But he was too tired right then to bother thinking about it.

He kicked his shoes off by the bed but didn't bother to take anything else off. Fully clothed, he allowed Remy to tuck him down under the sheets. Before Remy even left the room, he was asleep.

For a while he slept the deep sleep that comes with exhaustion. His sobbing had taken a lot of physical energy out of him, what little energy he'd had left after everything, and it allowed him to knock out for quite a while without being disturbed. It couldn't last, though. It never did. Evening was gone and night was halfway through when the nightmare first hit. It started as it always did, with sounds and smells. The music playing in the background, the scent of alcohol and sweat, blood and sex. Next came sensation. He could feel the hands gripping his hair, the pain that made him feel as if he was being torn in two. He could even feel the belt biting in to his ankles as he bounced with the force of their thrusts and the ache in his shoulders from his arms being shoved up his back.

Spencer tossed and turned as the nightmare tried to suck him under. Even asleep he knew that it was a dream and was fighting to claw his way out of it. With a great big gasp, he broke free from the dream and shot upright in his bed. Every part of his body hurt just as it had the night it had happened. From head to toe he was trembling and air was whistling in and out of his lungs, making the room spin. It was a full scale panic attack building and he had nothing to do to head it off. No way to prevent it from growing. His usual coping methods were gone, taken from him by a well-meaning friend, and Spencer had no idea what to do.

A scream was sticking in his throat, trying to claw its way up. He tried to hold it all in, hold back the fear and the anger and the pain, but he just couldn't anymore. Ever since he had opened up to Remy it seemed that everything was just pouring out of him. What little he'd been able to control now ran rampant in him. The scream ripped its way free, echoing through the room. He grabbed the pillow and buried his face in it as the screams continued, making him hoarse. Everything they had said to him, even their laughter, bounced around inside his skull. He yanked at his hair, trying to distract against the voices there, to use the pain as an anchor or a distraction or something. Anything to make them stop!

He heard his door open, and he knew that it was Remy rushing in, but he couldn't stop any of it. He felt Remy climb into the bed and actually relished the feeling of those strong, warm arms enveloping him. They gave him something to center on, to cling to.

There was none of Remy's earlier caution in touching him. Caught up in the moment, Remy didn't hesitation at all, simply wrapping Spencer up and pulling him in tight. "Shh, shh, I'm right here, Spencer. I got y'. I'm here." Gently, he rocked Spencer in his arms. One hand slid up Spencer's back and the genius felt it as it threaded through his hair and pressed against his own fingers, trying to loosen his grip. Remy was trying to get him to let go of his hair. As soon as he broke Spencer's grip, he threaded their fingers together and brought his hand down, letting Spencer squeeze on his hand instead.

Just being in Remy's arms was starting to bring the panic attack down. It surprised Spencer; touch usually sent it higher. Yet Remy's presence here was helping to push it back down, to break the tight hold that it held on him. "Why doesn't it go away?" Spencer wheezed out, managing to pull the screams back inside himself. "Every night I dream about it. I have to hear them all the time. What was it about me? Do I just look like a whore? Do I look easy? Was it really just my skin? Because I look like a girl?" They were questions he'd asked himself so many times. He'd never been able to find the answers to them. Why him? Why?

"Y' don't look like a girl, cher." Remy was quick to reassure him. "Trust me, y' aint never come off lookin' like a girl to me."

"Then is it the skin? Or am I just really a whore?"

"Oh, _bébé_ , _non_. _Non, non_." Now Remy gathered him closer so that they were plastered against one another. He wasn't thinking, only reacting to the hurt of the one he loved. "Y' aint a whore, don't y' dare call y'rself dat. An _oui_ , y' got soft skin, _mais_ dat's okay. Dese people, dey just use dat shit as excuses, reasons t'do what dey do. It aint y', Spencer. Never y'. Dey're de ones dat're wrong. It aint y'r fault. Y' know dat. I know y' know dat. Y've worked dis job long enough t'know it aint de victim's fault."

"I want to believe you so much. But I can't seem to. There had to be something I did. Otherwise it makes no sense!"

"Sometimes t'ings don't make sense to us, Spencer. Some t'ings we got no idea de reasons behind dem."

"Don't leave me, please. Stay with me, like this." Spencer begged him. He didn't understand it, didn't have any explanation as to why he wasn't scared of Remy's touch at the moment, but he didn't want to lose that feeling. It had been so long since he had been able to be held and it felt so good. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt safe and protected like this. "I don't know if I can go back to sleep alone."

Remy didn't answer with words. Instead, he shifted them around, adjusting their position in the bed while still keeping Spencer in the circle of his arms. They ended up with Spencer lying on his side, his face buried right up against Remy's collarbone. One of Remy's arms stayed around Spencer while their joined hands rested between them. Remy moved the arm off of him long enough to grab the comforter and pull it up over them. Then, ever so softly, he heard Remy start to hum. It was a wordless melody, one that Spencer didn't recognize, yet he found it soothing. There, held safe and secure by Remy, with the soft sounds of music above him and vibrating Remy's chest in front of him, Spencer slowly drifted back to sleep.

* * *

The light of day brought a confusing array of emotions for Spencer. The most predominant one that he felt was embarrassment. He was beyond embarrassed for his actions in the night. If anything, he felt _mortified_ by them. Breaking apart like that wasn't something that he'd ever allowed himself. Yet, for the second time in twenty four hours, he'd broken down—and he'd done it in front of Remy both times. Thinking on it made him cringe.

He slipped out of Remy's arms almost the instant that he woke up. He held no illusion that he didn't wake the other man as he climbed out of the bed. Remy let him go, though, and for that Spencer was grateful.

It was in his morning shower that he had the privacy, and finally the energy, to think about what he'd just done. What he'd just committed himself to. There his thoughts were free to turn to everything that he'd just agreed to do and what it meant for him. He had agreed to come out here with Remy and seek psychiatric help. To quit the drugs, the drinking—the cutting. Spencer looked down at his body as he stood under the spray of the shower. The cuts on his chest and stomach were still pretty nasty looking despite Remy cleaning them yesterday. The older scars were numerous and marked his skin in various places. He knew he should feel ashamed inside over what he saw. He knew that the marks on his skin were nothing to be proud of. Yet, he was. He was proud and happy. _Not so soft. Not so smooth._ He didn't want to be 'pretty' anymore. He didn't want anyone to look at him and want him. It seemed fitting as well that the outside reflected the ugliness that he felt inside every day.

He was ugly, Spencer knew. Inside, where no one could see, he was weak and ugly and broken. Maybe even too broken to be put back together again. He'd become an alcoholic, had given in to the drug addict inside of him, he cut himself, he couldn't go around too many people without having a panic attack, he couldn't sleep without nightmares. Hell, he'd happily stepped off a balcony with every intention of letting himself fall. And he knew he'd do it again if Remy left him alone long enough—which wasn't going to happen. He was lucky Remy was leaving him alone long enough to _shower_. The man wasn't going to trust him alone right now and Spencer couldn't really blame him. He'd do the same in his shoes.

But, oh, that _feeling_. Spencer could still feel it inside, the peace that had enveloped him when he'd taken that step. Could anyone really blame him for wanting that peace? Especially after the hell he'd lived in these past six months.

Once his shower was done, he dressed himself in a pair of sweats he found sitting on the bathroom counter, as well as the t-shirt and sweater that were there. It made him shiver slightly to realize that Remy had slipped in long enough to put those clothes there without him knowing. At the same time he was grateful to his friend for saving him from having to walk out in just a towel and for giving him something he could easily hide his body away in.

It wasn't any real surprise to come downstairs and find Remy in the kitchen making breakfast. The scent of the food was an easy trail to follow. What he hadn't expected was to find someone else in there with him.

The only thing that kept Spencer from immediately retreating was the fact that the person in the kitchen with him was a woman.

She was a beautiful woman, to be sure. Tall and heavyset, with a warm smile and laughing green eyes that were framed by brown hair that fell loosely around her face and shoulders. Spencer had never met her before but he'd heard enough about her to recognize who she was. This was Dr. Winters, the only psychiatrist that Remy trusted. Remy had spoken of her before, though not much. He didn't often talk about things that he'd gone through. His past was a touchy subject for him and it was hard for him to get into without copious amounts of alcohol in his system. But what he had mentioned was that he'd been recommended to her by a friend, someone he trusted, after the whole Morlock incident, and that she was the only reason he was still alive today.

Spencer wasn't suffering under any delusions as to why she was here. Remy had said he was going to get help; here was his help.

For a moment Spencer contemplated putting in the effort to draw on the masks that he usually wore around everyone. He thought about trying to fake it the way that he had lately with his team, with the Bureau, with everyone. Then he pushed that thought aside. Why bother? No doubt Remy had already told her what was going on. Why put in the energy to hide how he felt when she would already know what was going on? Let her look at him and judge. He didn't care anymore. He just didn't care.

He wasn't exactly silent as he came into the room. Comfortable with Remy, he didn't bother asking, simply went straight to the coffee pot and the cup-tree beside it and started to prepare himself a cup. Behind him he heard the two people moving around and he knew they were watching him. Let them. He didn't care.

"Spencer," Remy called out. "Turn around an show some manners, cher. I'd like y' t'come meet a friend of mine."

Unbidden, the temper that seemed to sporadically live inside of Spencer lately came up to the surface. "I know who she is." He said dryly. Without even looking at them, he made his way over to the table and slipped down into the chair furthest from them and with the easiest exit route.

Surprise lit up Remy's face at his friend's sharp and rude tone. "Spencer,"

The woman held a hand up towards Remy to quiet him. Her smile never faltered. "No, Remy, it's fine." Folding her hands back in front of herself, she fixed her eyes directly on Spencer, though he couldn't hold her gaze. "I imagine you've heard plenty about me, just like I've heard plenty about you."

"I'm sure you have." Spencer said in a rather snide voice. The temper wasn't like him, but he couldn't quite keep it in.

"Well, let me make proper introductions, then. My name is Dr. Summer Winters—and yes, I know how utterly ridiculous that sounds." Her smile grew a little and for that brief second, Spencer could see past his anger and fear and understand a little why Remy so liked this woman. There was a good heart looking out at him through those amused eyes.

He didn't say anything to her introduction. Why bother? He knew who she was and he had no doubt she knew exactly who he was. Why play this little polite game of introductions? Ignoring Remy's eyes on him, he curled his hands around his coffee mug and just stared down at it. Who cared if it upset Remy? _I don't care. I don't! Let him hate me. Let him see how broken I really am_.

Summer and Remy both let Spencer have his privacy and quiet. A plate of food was set down in front of him at one point that Spencer ended up just picking at.

It was when breakfast was over that things finally came to the forefront.

Summer was sitting back in her chair, a coffee cup held in her hands, watching him as he pushed a strawberry around his plate. Off to the side, Remy was quiet. Without looking away from Spencer, Summer suddenly said "Remy, why don't you go ahead and go shopping or something? Anything that gets you out of the house, really."

The immediate hit of panic that Spencer felt at the idea of Remy leaving had his eyes snapping up towards the two. Remy looked reluctant, eyes darting from Spencer over to Summer. "Y' sure, cher? I thought I'd just, y'know, go out back or somet'ing."

"I'd prefer if Spencer and I could speak alone, at least for today." Her smile grew and her eyes twinkled a little with good humor as they watched Spencer's face. "I'd like you to feel comfortable enough to react to me without worrying about what Remy might think or do, Spencer."

That implied that he was actually going to talk to her. Which, as of right now, he had no intention of doing. They could force him to come to her. They couldn't force him to talk about this.

He told her as much as soon as Remy was gone.

The door had barely shut behind his friend—who was leaving very, very reluctantly—when Spencer arched an eyebrow at her. "Just because Remy brought me here doesn't mean that I'm going to talk to you about this."

"I know." Summer said calmly.

"I'm not playing any of your games, either. I have a degree in psychology and training on how to deal with victims. The games and techniques you want to try, I know them. I'm not going to fall for them."

She sipped at her coffee during his sharp speech. When he was done, she tipped her head to the side, still watching him with that calm expression. "Is that how you see yourself, as a victim?"

Out of all parts of what he'd said, that was what she'd focused on? Spencer held in the swell of anger that rose up in him. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to sit here and play these games and talk with her about these things. He didn't want to talk to _anyone_ about it. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine." Summer reassured him. "I'm not here to force you to talk. Contrary to what Remy may think, I can't force you to get better and I can't force you to talk. I'm not a miracle worker." Carefully, she set her cup down on the table. Then she folded her arms and leaned against them, her gaze sharpening ever so slightly. "However, if you let me, I can help you. And I believe that you want that, Dr. Reid. I believe that a part of you wants my help. You let Remy bring you here, even though it would've been easy to stop him. That tells me that there's a part of you that wants to get help."

He leaned back in his chair, instinctively drawing back from her words. "Have you ever tried to stop Remy from something?"

"You didn't have to tell him about what happened to you. You didn't have to tell him your story, or stay with him, or let him bring you here. You're a smart man, Dr. Reid. You know there are ways you could've stopped him. But you didn't. You didn't because you know, inside of yourself, that you want help. That you need it. You know that you can't keep living like this."

The anger that had been fueling him left as abruptly as it'd come. In one of the mood swings that had become so common for him lately, the anger faded away and the grief replaced it. Spencer closed his eyes for a second against the pain that seemed to be his constant companion. Then he lifted his eyes once more and met her gaze without any of the walls that he usually put up. "I'm tired." He said softly. "I'm tired and I just, I can't."

"Can't what?" Summer asked gently.

"Anything." Spencer made a soft sound that might've been a laugh if it hadn't been for the pain and self-deprecation woven through it. "I can't keep doing this. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't be helped. I just, I can't anymore. I don't have anything left in me to do it all."

"Then let me help you, Dr. Reid. Let _Remy_ help you. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

He'd messed himself up so badly trying to cope with this on his own. In a way, Spencer knew he'd done just as much damage to himself as the actual assault had, at least in some ways. He'd kept it all inside and let it destroy him. Now…now he'd opened that door and he'd let Remy inside. There was going to be no shoving him back out. What harm would it do to let him help? To let this woman that Remy had brought him to help? Could they really do any worse than he had?

This was his last hope. If he didn't let her help now, today, he knew with certainty he wasn't going to make it much longer, no matter how hard Remy tried to protect him from himself.

Meeting her eyes, Spencer nodded, committing himself. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

Deciding to accept help was only the first step in a long and often painful road. It wasn't an easy step to make, either. Spencer knew how hard it was to accept help. He remembered it from the last time he'd quit the Dilaudid. But that? That was a walk in the park compared to this.

That day with Dr. Winters was the start of some of the most difficult days that Spencer had ever gone through. Living with something painful like he had been was extremely difficult; it was agonizing and hard and terrifying. But _dealing_ with something like this? It was exponentially worse. Even more so because he wasn't allowed any of his usual crutches. No drinking, no drugs, no cutting. _Nothing._ Spencer stayed isolated here in Remy's home where there was no alcohol, no access to drugs, and no private access to anything sharp. Remy hadn't taken out the knives in his house or anything like that. He had, however, kept the razors and anything like that away. If Spencer wanted to shave, it was done with Remy in the room, as humiliating as it was.

Spencer has basically given Remy and Dr. Winters both permission to help him by any means necessary and they took him at his word. Whether he liked it or not, they were here to help him, even on the days that he couldn't manage to help himself.

It took a full week of twice a day visits before Spencer broke enough to tell her what had happened to him. He knew that she already knew. Remy had told her everything when he hired her. But she had wanted Spencer to open up and do it. For one week he fought that, even though it made his nightmares grow progressively worse. By the end of the week he was tired, scared, and he couldn't hold it in anymore. He wasn't quiet and soft when he told her, either, like he'd been with Remy. All of his emotions rose up and boiled over and he screamed it at her. Screamed until his throat was raw and his fury had been spent. Then he curled up in a ball on the floor and sobbed harder than he ever had before.

She had to call Remy in at the end of the session to help carry him out of the room and get him into bed. There, Remy curled around him and held him, doing his best to keep him safe even in his sleep.

Ever since that first night where Remy had come in to wake Spencer from his nightmare, the two had slept together. The first few nights were almost like the first—Spencer would fall asleep alone and then wake up screaming or crying from a nightmare, at which point Remy would come in. Then the two would end up falling asleep together. It was on the fourth night that Remy surprised Spencer by simply joining him right from the start. After that, the two made no pretense of sleeping apart. They went to bed together and Spencer slept in the safety of Remy's embrace.

Spencer didn't understand what had changed or why being in Remy's arms felt so right to him, why he wasn't scared to be touched by him, but he wasn't going to argue with it. This was the man that he knew he loved, and knew loved him. He just, wasn't ready for a relationship with him. He told Summer about it and she agreed that it was far too soon for a serious relationship. She did, however, encourage them to continue their sleeping arrangements, and she never protested about the way that Spencer leaned on him.

The next week wasn't really any easier than the first. Opening up about what had happened was only step one. After that, Spencer had to start working through things and dealing with what had happened to him. Summer warned him that the process to healing was going to be a long one, even longer than he'd probably hoped for because he'd gone so close to the edge before he'd got help. But she put him on antidepressants as well as an antianxiety medication to help him along. She warned him that their effects weren't instantaneous. Only with combined effort of medication and counseling would he begin to heal.

By their third week there, Remy noticed more and more changes in Spencer. He wasn't back to his normal self, but bits and pieces of him were coming back to life. He was smiling again. Just a little, but it was there. One night Remy even got him to laugh.

For one whole month Spencer stayed at his little safe hideaway here with Remy. He stayed there, safe, and let himself heal, and for that Remy was grateful. It eased some of his own pain and warmed his heart as he watched Spencer claw his way back up towards life.

Still, even with how hard Spencer was working to heal, or how far he'd come, Remy wasn't prepared at all for what Spencer did next.

It was evening time and Remy was standing out on the back porch having a cigarette while Spencer and Summer spoke inside. He always tried to grant them their privacy. If Spencer wanted him there, he'd ask. Otherwise Remy tried to respect them and stay out of their way.

He hadn't realized how long he'd been standing out there lost in his own thoughts until he heard the sound of Summer's car starting up and then heading down the drive. Had he really been out here that long? It hadn't seemed like it.

His thoughts were interrupted a few seconds later when the back door opened and Remy heard Spencer's hesitant footsteps. Sometimes it still amazed him how much about Spencer had changed. He hadn't always moved confidently before, at least not around others, but he'd gained this sort of comfort in himself over the years that had showed in the way he moved or how he held himself. That was gone now. There was a hesitance in almost everything Spencer did; a way of moving that was more drawn in, like he was trying to stay as compact as possible.

Remy stayed perfectly still, letting Spencer come to him. Though he was much better about touching, he was still jumpy if he wasn't expecting it, and he did a whole lot better if you let him initiate it.

A second later Spencer was standing beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets. Their arms brushed lightly, but that was all the contact they had. They stayed like that for a long moment before Spencer opened his mouth and stunned Remy completely. "It's time to go back home."

Remy's eyebrows shot up in a visible sign of his surprise. He looked over at Spencer, who stayed staring out over the lawn. So far Spencer had showed no signs of wanting to leave here. This, it seemed rather sudden and out of nowhere. Yet, Remy knew it wasn't. Spencer never did anything without thinking it through. If he was saying this, that meant that he'd been thinking about it for a while and he'd made his decision carefully. Still, Remy couldn't help but ask "Are y' sure?"

"I need to." A slight shudder ran down Spencer's body. "I've talked about it with Summer. I…I need to tell my team."

That surprised Remy even more. Spencer was willing going to tell the others?

Either Spencer sensed his surprise and was answering that, or more likely he was just trying to get all this out. His next words just poured out of him. "These guys are probably still going to places like this and hurting other people. People who could be saved if I spoke up and tried to stop them. I have to tell my team, Rem. I have to stop them. I can't let other people be hurt because I'm so damn afraid."

Pain twisted Remy's insides at what his love had been through—was still going through—but at the same time he felt so fucking proud of him. His strong, amazing Spencer, who took every hit life dealt him and _still_ climbed back up to his feet. Remy squeezed his hand and leaned in just a little more to bump their shoulders together. "Y'r amazing, cher." He told him honestly, enjoying the way that Spencer flushed under his words. " _Mais,_ y' aint gotta do it alone. I'm coming with y'."

"Thank you." It didn't escape Remy's notice how Spencer relaxed at those words. "I, I set up to do phone counseling with Summer. She says it's not quite the same, but that it would be beneficial for me. On top of that, we agreed that once a month we'll get together face to face. So long as I stay on my medication and keep in contact with her, she thinks that I'll be fine. She says I've come a long way in the past month."

"I'm proud of y', cher." Remy said softly.

"I wouldn't have done any of this without you." Soft as can be, Spencer pulled one hand from his pocket and moved it to lace his fingers with Remy's. Love welled up inside of Remy, practically overflowing from him. He knew how important a step it was for Spencer to allow someone to hold his hand. To let someone have any kind of restraining touch on him. He really had come a long way in the past month. Constant counseling with Summer had helped with that. So had getting clean. He was better. Remy was still worried about him being well enough to work, especially considering his job, but he knew how strong Spencer was and he trusted Summer to help him.

With every passing day Remy was more and more amazed with the man at his side. This man that he loved more than anyone or anything else in the world. Whatever Spencer needed, Remy was going to be there for him, proud to stand right at his side.

* * *

Despite how calm he'd been when he brought it up to Remy, nerves ate at Spencer as they headed back towards home. All through the plane ride, he worried. Would he really be able to do this? Could he really go back and tell his friends about what had happened to him? _File charges_? It was insanity. It was _terrifying_. It was also the only thing that he could do. He and Summer had talked about it for a week now. Spencer had to do this; he couldn't risk anyone else getting hurt. Seven months had gone by since his attack—thinking of how many others could've been hurt by this group in that time frame let him sick with guilt.

He knew he had to do this. That didn't make it easier, though. He was still so damn afraid.

Was he really ready for this? Not just telling everyone, but being back in the 'real world', out of the safe bubble that he'd made for himself at Remy's place. Was he really ready to go back to work? Sure, he was making progress in his therapy. Summer was easy to talk to and she helped him a lot. But did that mean he was ready to be back at work, back at home, tempted by easy access to drugs and alcohol and surrounded by people? Half the time he still couldn't stand to have someone touch him.

What if he had a nightmare at the hotels while on a case? One of the ones that he woke himself by screaming. Remy wasn't going to be able to be there. He wasn't a part of their team; he couldn't go with them on cases.

The brush of an arm against his reminded him that he wasn't alone now. Remy sat beside him in the back of the cab as they rode from the airport to Spencer's place. Remy had taken care of calling Aaron for him yesterday after Spencer had announced he was ready to go home. The team was going to be waiting for Spencer at his place. Derek had a key and he was going to let them all in.

Remy might not be able to go with Spencer on cases once he started work again, but he was here now and that was what mattered. Remy was right here beside him, holding his hand, supporting him just as he'd done from the start. He was absolutely amazing. Without him, Spencer knew he wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't be alive. He owed Remy his life.

The Cajun was the only one that Spencer could handle a casual touch with. He was the only one who could pull Spencer out of a panic attack just by holding him and talking to him. What if he had one around the others? Telling them what had happened to him was going to be hard enough. Showing them just how broken he'd become, how twisted and broken, how used and dirty and _worthless_ …

Spencer jolted in his seat when he felt the warmth of Remy's hand closing over his. He looked over at the man who had become his lifeline and saw the small smile Remy wore as he looked out the window. That did more to reassure him than a thousand words could have. No matter how anyone reacted to this, he'd still have Remy at his side. Remy wasn't going to leave him alone. How they would work things out, he didn't know. But they would work out something. He had to have faith in that. If he lost his faith in Remy, he would go crazy. It would be too easy to sink back down into that dark hole he'd been in. As it was, he was holding himself up by his fingernails. Spencer knew that wasn't really that healthy. Even Summer had warned him about becoming too dependent on Remy to survive. But right now he was willing to risk it to keep himself sane.

When they reached his apartment, Spencer mourned the loss of Remy's hand for the short time it took them to get out of the cab and gather up their bags. As if sensing Spencer's need, which the Cajun seemed very good at, Remy grabbed at his hand immediately as they started toward the front door. Spencer was grateful for it. His nerves had gotten worse when he saw the familiar cars in the parking lot. There was no more hiding now, no more waiting. They were here and the team was upstairs. Spencer's time was up. With one hand he held tightly to Remy and with the other he clenched down on the water bottle he was holding. He'd used it to take one of his pills on their ride over here.

They were silent as they went inside. The further up the stairs they went, the more Spencer's panic started to come back. Shortly he was going to come face to face with his friends for the first time in a month. It'd been even longer than that since he'd faced them without the cushion of having _something_ in his system to dull his fear. And he wasn't just going up there to meet them and say hello and be welcomed home. He was going up there to tell them about one of his worst memories. What were they going to say? What would they do? His heart picked up speed. What if they tried to hug him? Would he be able to maintain his composure through it, or would he shame himself by flinching away from them?

Yet again, Remy read him perfectly and he gave Spencer's hand a squeeze in a show of support. Over the past month they had become so close. There were times where no words were needed between them to convey a message. They could speak volumes with a look, a touch. It grounded Spencer in ways he hadn't known he'd needed.

By time they reached Spencer's front door he was balancing on a thin line between calm and panic. He started to chew at his lip as Remy pulled out Spencer's keys, trying to control the nerves that spread in him like wildfire. It shamed him that he was so panicked at the thought of going to see the people who were like his family. His hand clenched a little more on his water bottle.

The sound of laughter echoed out to them from inside the apartment. Apparently the team was having a good time while waiting. Though he didn't know why, it set Spencer further on edge. He kept his head down and drew back almost instinctively, allowing Remy to unlock the door and lead him inside. As expected, the sound of the door opening caught the attention of everyone inside. From the safety of his place at Remy's side—almost behind him, now, as Spencer drew back a little more—he saw everyone in his living room, watched as they all rose to their feet. Derek was just stepping out from the kitchen, while Emily, Aaron and Dave were all pushing up from the couch. Penelope was the one closest and she lit up at the sight of them. "Reid! Remy!"

Remy let go of Spencer's hand and subtly stepped in front of him to intercept Penelope's hug as she hurried forward. "Hey dere, cher." Kissing her cheek, he drew back and grinned at her. "Aint y' lookin' fine t'day."

"I look fine every day, handsome, and don't you forget it." She teased.

At one point in time, Spencer would have joined in with everyone's chuckles at the teasing between those two. He would've been looking to Derek and sharing a smile and an eye roll, maybe. They'd always been amused by Remy and Penelope's friendship. It was a lot like the one that Penelope had with Derek, though not as 'over the top'. Usually, Spencer and Derek enjoyed laughing at that. Now? Now, Spencer couldn't even get his mouth to work. His throat felt dry and his voice had disappeared. _Oh God._ He couldn't do this. No, no way.

Sharp eyes watched as the two made their way into the room and Spencer kept himself tucked mostly behind Remy. These people were profilers; they weren't going to miss the obvious or the subtle things that Spencer knew he was showing. At the moment he just couldn't bring himself to care. Spencer kept himself back, close to the door and with a wall at his back. It wasn't logical, because he knew his friends would never do anything to hurt him. But that terror was there that came from being in the same room with a group made up of mostly men. Men who, if they chose, could overpower him easily.

Remy was doing a pretty good job and drawing the greetings and hugs his way. But Derek seemed to only have eyes for Spencer. He wore a wide grin and was walking directly toward Spencer. The young genius could see him coming, knew what was headed his way, and he felt the panic start to peak. His breath started to wheeze a little, enough to warn him that a panic attack was trying to come on. He was trying to force it down, but it was building.

When Remy broke away from Emily's hug and saw Derek, he tried to move quickly, but he wasn't fast enough to stop Derek from reaching out to try and pull Spencer into a hug. The minute Derek's hand closed over Spencer, so many things happened at once. Spencer felt the panic attack slam into him like a freight train, and he jerked sideways, dropping his bottle as he did so. It hit the floor and sent water everywhere. In Spencer's mad scramble to get way, he slipped in the water and hit the floor. Almost instantly he scooted as far back into the wall as he could, trying to get out of their reach when everyone tried to move forward to help, gasping all the while in an attempt to draw air into his tortured lungs. Even as all this happened, Remy was pushing everyone back out of the entryway, herding them to the living room area. Derek was trying to protest, but Aaron stepped up and helped Remy clear the area. Once Remy was sure that Aaron had them under control, he turned back to Spencer.

He wasted no time worry about the bottle of water. Hurrying forward, he knelt right down in the water directly in front of Spencer. He paid no attention to the moisture soaking the knees of his pants. All his attention was fixed on Spencer. He knew better than to try to reach for him, so instead he held his arms open. It didn't take but a second before Spencer launched himself into them. Kneeling on the floor, Remy enfolded Spencer in his strong arms and rocked him right there, whispering soothing sounds in his ears. "Shh, shh, _bébé_. Dere we go. I've got y'. Y'r okay. Everything's gonna be just fine."

Spencer tried to make himself relax. He drew strength from Remy's embrace, using it as a lifeline to hold on to his sanity. Softly, so softly that the others could barely hear him, Remy began to hum to him. That same wordless lullaby that he hummed every night when Spencer woke from the dreams. The familiar sound had become soothing to Spencer; something that he could let fill him and that could chase away the darkness. The tension started to leave his body, leaving behind the same weakness that it always did. Unfortunately, as the panic faded, the embarrassment seeped in.

After a few minutes of gentle rocking and soft humming, the panic attack was gone, but Spencer was left feeling ashamed of himself. He had overreacted about a simple touch from a friend. He couldn't do this! There was no way he was going to be able to make it through telling them or even coming back to work if he couldn't even handle having a friend touch him. Suddenly he was so tired. Both physically and emotionally. How the hell could he do this? As if reading his mind, Remy whispered in his ear "Y' are strong enough, Spencer. Dis was just a setback, _oui_? Y' can do it. I got faith in y'."

Nothing meant more to him than Remy's support, his faith. Spencer nodded numbly against Remy's chest. "Don't leave." He whispered to him.

The arms around him tightened. "I aint going nowhere."

That was the only thing that gave Spencer the strength to move. Together, they slowly stood up. But Spencer couldn't let go of Remy yet. He wasn't ready to stand on his own. Understanding that without being told, Remy kept an arm around Spencer's waist, and with his other hand he held on to Spencer's hand.

"Spencer…" Derek started, and then paused. He had to take a minute to control his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay." Spencer said hoarsely. It was all he could get out. The muscles in his throat felt tight, almost locked. It was Remy who stepped in again, saving him from having to say anything. "I should've warned y' b'fore we got here. Spencer don't handle being touched too well right now." Remy said this matter-of-factly, not elaborating on it, just as if it were something totally normal. Like this was just something that could happen to anyone.

The emotion in the room was almost palpable. Spencer looked up at his friends and he could see, could almost _feel_ , just how worried they all were for him. He could see how much they cared for him. Would that care still be there when he was all done? Once they knew what had happened to him, how low he'd let himself go, would they still be there for him? Would they still care? Or would they turn around and walk away? He was a man, after all, and an FBI agent. How could he have let something like this happen to him?

Those thoughts had plagued Spencer since the day this had happened. It was only recently with Remy and Summer's help that he'd been able to start shoving those horrible thoughts back down. "Have faith in your friends." Summer had told him when they'd talked about this. "You just need to have a little faith."

Faith. Such a strange concept for someone who avoided religion. This wasn't faith in some deity, though. This was about having faith in himself and in the people that he loved.

Determination filled Spencer. Pressing in against Remy, he drew in a careful breath. "Help me up, please." He murmured to his friend. With Remy's hands bracing him, the two rose up from the ground. Once they were on their feet Spencer gestured towards the living room. "Please, sit down. This…this might take a bit."

As they settled down in the living room Spencer gave brief thought to the fact that he probably should've taken Summer's advice and done this meeting with just Aaron, and maybe Derek, not everyone at once. But he'd wanted to do this on his own, all at once. He'd wanted to prove that he was strong enough. _I can do this_ , he thought to himself as he and Remy settled onto the chaise lounge together. _I can do this._

He looked over to where Derek, Emily and Penelope had all gathered on the couch. Derek's expression was the calm and relaxed expression that he got when interviewing victims. The one that said he was there and he was willing to listen. The other profilers had almost identical expressions on their faces. It left a sort of sick feeling in Spencer's stomach. He didn't want ot be just another victim to them.

Only Penelope was showing open, honest emotion. She was twisting her hands together in her lap and she looked worried and scared as she watched him, yet there was so much love in that expression. It gave him something to focus on. Looking at her, he didn't have to see the work faces that his other friends wore. That made it just a little easier to get started.

"Seven months ago…" Spencer paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. His voice sounded so loud in the quiet of his apartment. Spencer leaned in to Remy's touch beside him and drew strength from him. No matter what, he had Remy. That helped him say what came next. "Seven months ago I was assaulted in a club."

It was the third time he'd ever said those words out loud. They hadn't gotten any easier. It still tore at him to say it. They still left a sick taste in his mouth.

The only reaction he got was the soft sound of Emily sucking in a breath and Penelope's low gasp.

He was grateful when they didn't speak. It allowed him to keep going. He sat there with Remy beside him, holding his hand, and laid out the bare basics for his friends. Everything from the assault straight up to the present moment. He didn't give in depth details, though he knew he'd have to later for an official police report. For now he just laid out the basics for them. The rest could come later. If it were up to him, the rest would come out with someone who _wasn't_ on the team. He didn't think he could give his team details. But someone else, a random officer or agent, that would be a whole lot easier.

Spencer found himself surprised as he told his story. Even harder than telling them about the actual assault was telling them all that came after. About the drinking, the drugs—and about that last, fateful night. He didn't tell them what he'd done, not directly. He didn't mention stepping off that hotel balcony. He really doubted they needed that imagery. Instead, he laid it out in much simpler terms. "If it weren't for Remy, I wouldn't be here to tell you this right now." Spencer said softly. "He came and pushed and, well, I didn't react well." His free hand went to press against his stomach, against the scars that sat underneath. "I ended up running. Luckily, Remy followed. IF he hadn't…well, like I said, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. He saved me from doing something very, very stupid."

"Reid." Emily said softly, stunned.

The professional masks had slipped a little. Spencer dropped his gaze, unable to look at them, to see the heartbreak he knew was there.

"Jesus," Derek whispered quietly. Though Spencer wasn't looking, he could feel his friend's gaze. "Reid…why didn't you come to us?"

Spencer shook his head. His hand clenched down a little tighter on Remy's. "I couldn't. I couldn't tell you, don't you see?" Now that the hardest part was out, Spencer was able to look up at his friends. He could read the shock, the heartache, the worry that was on all of them. "If I told you guys, I was admitting what happened to me. That meant that I'd have to face it, to live with it. I couldn't do that. Sometimes I still can't."

"I wish to God I'd known. That I could have done something to help you." Derek said.

Spencer shrugged one shoulder. "I wasn't ready, Morgan." His eyes ran over each person in the room. "None of you would've been able to get through to me. My whole life revolved around fear and panic, and anything that could make me shut off, not things that made me feel more. It still is, most of the time. I'm not healed yet. Still, no one could get to me before because I wouldn't let them."

A corner of Dave's mouth quirked. "But Remy did." He looked at the Cajun beside Spencer and the gratitude on his face.

Remy had been silent through this whole thing. He didn't speak up now, either. Just smiled at them and stayed there, silent and strong, right at Spencer's side.

Unable to see himself, Spencer didn't know that his face went soft, or how his eyes warmed. He couldn't see the way his lips curved. But the others did. They saw how everything about Spencer went soft. "He's been a godsend." Spencer said softly, looking up at Remy through his bangs. "I don't know what I'd do without him. He never pressures me, never wants me to do more than he knows I'm capable of. He doesn't judge me, or make me feel like I'm weak. Instead, he tells me how he marvels at my strength."

That broke Remy's silence. He drew Spencer's hand up, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. "Dat's cause y' are strong, cher. Y'r de strongest _homme_ I've ever met."

Spencer dropped his eyes down even as his cheeks colored. He had to clear his throat a few times before his voice came back. "I'm, ah, I'm doing better than I was. I'm not perfect—as you saw earlier. Panic attacks still happen, and I can't say it won't happen again. They're less frequent than before, but they still happen. Dr. Winters has me on an antianxiety medicine and antidepressants, but like she says, they aren't miracle drugs. Between those and her counseling, though, I'm making progress. I'm getting better."

"You like her?" Aaron asked, his first question since all this had started.

That was easy for Spencer to answer. "Yes." He liked her immensely. She'd been a huge help to him in getting better.

Aaron nodded at that. He hesitated only briefly before he spoke again. "Are you going to make an official report of this, Reid?"

"Yes." Spencer didn't hesitate on that answer either. He may not have liked what he was going to have to do, but it was the _right thing_ to do. "I've waited too long already. I don't want anyone else to be hurt because I'm too afraid to speak."

"You're braver than you give yourself credit for." Penelope told him firmly. She looked heartbroken, her eyes still wet from the tears that she'd cried on his behalf, but at the same time she was steady and firm. This unshakable being set firmly on his side. "I've worked with a lot of people who've been through some horrible things. There are plenty who _never_ get the courage to report what happened to them. Don't doubt how strong you are, Reid."

Remy leaned in, pressing a light kiss against Spencer's hair. "See?" He murmured softly, for Spencer's ears only. "I told y'."

"I can get things started for you." Aaron told him. "You gave us enough information to get things going. The police will want to speak with you, but I think that can be held off for one more day. Right now we can get going with the information you've given us here. Tomorrow, you two can come to my place and we'll see what we have for you then."

"Hotch." Spencer found his voice cut off by a knot of emotion in his throat. How could he have doubted that his team would be here for him?

Sensing Spencer's inability to talk, Remy took over for him for a moment. "Y' want us t'come to y'r place? I thought dat y'd have to do dis through de Bureau."

Aaron's eyes drifted over the two of them, taking in the way that Spencer was leaned in against Remy, and then lifted back up to Remy's face. "Bringing you into the Bureau isn't an option and I doubt we'd be able to pry you two apart."

That made the two chuckle.

Looking from face to face, Spencer couldn't believe that he'd ever doubted his friends. All he saw as he looked at them now was love and understanding and so much support. How could he have forgotten that these people weren't just friends? They were family. And family stood with one another through thick and thin. "Thank you." He whispered to them. One of his rare, real smiles touched his lips and lit up his face. "Thank you so much." With them at his back and Remy beside him, maybe he finally could make it through this. Maybe, eventually, it would finally be over.


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting back in his chair, Spencer curled his legs up to his chest and stared out the window. The sun was just barely up, giving the sky a light glow, and his apartment was almost completely silent. After a rough night Spencer had gotten up to come sit alone for a bit and to make an important phone call. He was blessed that he was with someone who understood that need entirely. Remy didn't pressure him, didn't really say anything. When Spencer had told him he was going to call Summer, the Cajun had just nodded his agreement and told Spencer to take all the time he needed. Then he'd settled back down in the bed with the obvious intent to stay.

Remy never pushed his way into Spencer's sessions with Summer and for that Spencer was grateful. It wasn't like Remy needed to, really. There were some times where Remy probably knew more about what was going on than Summer did. Sometimes Spencer still had trouble opening up to her. She was great, and a wonderful help, but she was still someone new, someone he was getting to know in ways. There were times that Remy was just so much easier to talk to. Times where they were lying in bed in the middle of the night and it was dark and Spencer could kind of pretend that he was talking to himself as he lay there.

But after yesterday's events, after taking this big step here and coming back and _telling his team_ , after the night full of nightmares that had followed, Spencer had needed to speak with Summer. He'd needed to listen to her calm voice on the other end of the line as she talked him down from the ledge that he'd built himself up on.

Between talking to her and the antianxiety pill she'd told him to take, he finally felt just a little steadier. Just a little more capable of breathing without feeling like there was an elephant taking up residence on his chest. That sick, squirmy feeling was still down low in his stomach, the one that always came when he got really worried about something, but he could handle that. He'd handled that many times over the years. Anxiety on its own was no stranger to Spencer. He'd suffered from it in a lot of ways over the years. This… this had just pushed it into overdrive.

It was under control at the moment, though. He could live with this little feeling in his stomach. That would go away eventually.

And he knew just what would help it along.

His feet were almost silent as he made his way back down the hallway towards his bedroom. When he got in there, he found Remy sprawled out in the bed, propped up against the headboard with pillows while reading a book. At the sound of Spencer's footsteps Remy looked up and a smile touched his lips. "Hey dere, cher."

"Hey."

After only a brief hesitation, Spencer made his way over to his bed and climbed up on top of the blankets. Without skipping a beat, Remy shifted his position so that Spencer could curl against him. Remy grinned as he plucked at the sleeve of the sweater Spencer wore—Remy's sweater. "Comfortable?" he teased.

To Spencer's surprise he found himself grinning back. More and more it was getting easier to be himself around Remy. That part of him that had been locked away for so long was finally starting to return. He was realizing that he hadn't died that night at the club. No, he'd just buried himself deep inside, not letting himself deal with the pain. As Remy and Summer helped him to deal with that pain, the rest of him was coming back to life, and most of the time Spencer thought that that was a wonderful thing. "Pretty comfortable. Nice and roomy for me."

"Well, help y'rself, _mon amour_."

The casual endearment had Spencer flushing. He burrowed into Remy, burying his face in his chest. "I probably should have asked." He admitted, his voice muffled. Lying as he was he could feel Remy's chuckle. One hand came up to stroke over Spencer's hair, the touch just as reassuring as Remy's words when he spoke. "Don't worry about it, cher. It's just a sweater. I don't mind if y' borrow m' stuff sometimes, y'know dat."

"I know it sounds stupid, but, well, it's easier sometimes to talk to Summer, or to anyone, when I've got something of yours on." Spencer bit his lip and tried to tip his head a little more to keep Remy from seeing just how much he was embarrassing himself. "When I wear something of yours I can smell your cologne and it kind of makes me feel like you're there with me."

Remy was quiet for a moment before Spencer felt a kiss pressed against the top of his head. "Y' humble me, Spencer Reid."

Curious, Spencer forgot his own embarrassment and tilted his head so he could look up at him. "How?"

"Even after everything y've been through, y' still got such a beautiful heart. A beautiful soul. Y' make me feel like de most blessed man to be lying here with y' in m' arms."

It was Spencer's turn to grow quiet. He buried his face again to hide the blush staining his cheeks. "You've got it backwards." He mumbled. He felt as Remy kissed his head again and knew that his love was staying quiet because he knew how easily Spencer could be embarrassed. While Spencer slowly fell back asleep, Remy read his book. Both were perfectly content to stay where they were.

* * *

That sweet moment was something Spencer held with him later on when the two rose and had to face the real world once more. He held that moment inside of him when Aaron called, and he held it even tighter as he went down to the police station to make the official police report. At Spencer's insistence, Remy waited for him outside in the car. It would be easier to deal with the officers here if they didn't put their backs up by bringing a mutant right into the middle of this. Spencer hated it, but he and Remy both knew it was true. So Remy waited outside for him in Spencer's car. He was right there, just like he promised, when Spencer came out, and he didn't ask him any questions or comment whatsoever on the tears that stained Spencer's cheeks, or the way his hands shook, or anything. He just waited until Spencer had climbed into the passenger's seat and then offered his arms to the young genius, who almost immediately fell into them.

It took almost twenty minutes for Spencer to calm down enough for them to leave. Telling Remy or telling his friends had been one thing—telling the police was something else entirely. It was worse even than telling Summer. Summer wanted details, yes, but she could wait for some of them. The police officer that had interviewed Spencer had needed as many details as possible. Not just of the attack, but of the club that night, and of each attacker. Spencer had sat there with a sketch artist that Aaron had sent down, one that was through the Bureau and not the local police, and he'd described each person as best as he could. It was one of the times that his eidetic memory wasn't working against him with this.

Remy took them to Spencer's favorite little bakery after that and got him not only a coffee, but a little bit of food, too. He'd known that Spencer would have an appetite after something like that but he still tried to get food in him anyways. He was still considered far too skinny by both Remy and Summer's standards.

After that, they headed over to Aaron's.

Spencer huddled down into his sweater—Remy's sweater—as Aaron's house came into view. They were supposed to meet with everyone here and he could see that all their cars were already outside. He still felt a bit shaky and on edge from their morning, but he refused to hide away. These were his friends. No matter what, they were his friends. He wasn't going to hide from them anymore. Even if he felt slightly sick just thinking about what they might have for him in there. They would've been working on the case, he knew. His case. And now they'd have his official report through the police. Spencer had no doubt they'd already have the sketches and have Penelope running them through facial recognition software. Everything about what happened to him was going to be laid bare for his friends now. They'd know everything.

The one fear that held Spencer tight as he and Remy climbed out of the car and made their way up towards Aaron's door was the fear of seeing pity on the faces of his friends now. He couldn't stand the idea of them pitying him. It made him feel…less. As if they looked at him as something less because of what had happened.

Sadly, that was exactly what was in the eyes of everyone when he and Remy were led inside to the living room. Emily and Derek sat on the couch, Dave on a chair, and all of their eyes held pity for Spencer. He felt his spine stiffen. Something of it must have come through to Remy, because he squeezed Spencer's hand in a reassuring way. It gave him enough courage to continue walking in.

Remy gestured for Spencer to take the chair by the wall, the one closest to the front hall. It made Spencer feel good inside to know that Remy understood his need to have a wall at his back. To have a clear view of the door and open space between him and that exit. Grateful, he sank into the comfortable chair before realizing that there was nowhere for Remy to sit by him. As ridiculous as he knew the sensation was, he felt panic skittering around inside of him at the thought of being separated from him. He needed Remy by his side!

He didn't get a chance to say anything because Remy was already moving, folding his legs underneath him and taking a seat on the floor. He sat on one side, making sure it wasn't the side closest to the door, and leaned against Spencer's leg, resting his cheek on Spencer's knee. One of his hands came around Spencer's calf so that he was lightly hugging it without actually restraining him. It was a position that implied a submissiveness that Spencer knew wasn't really typical for the man. Yet he also knew Remy had done it simply to set Spencer at ease.

A smile curved Spencer's lips. He brought a hand up, lightly running it through Remy's hair. He loved his hair. Hell, he loved _him_. There was a twinkle in Remy's eyes when he looked up at Spencer over top his sunglasses and said "I'm not gonna start licking y'r hand, so don't even t'ink on it, cher."

Laughter exploded around the room. Spencer felt himself smile and some of his tension ease. "I'm not in to that kind of kink, Rem. You're safe."

The goofy grin Remy gave him eased even more of his tension. He rested his hand on the nape of Remy's neck, lightly fingering the curls hidden on the underside of Remy's hair, much more at ease than when he'd entered. This was most likely Remy's whole intention. How this man knew him so well was a mystery. Half the time Spencer felt that he didn't even know himself.

The laughter settled down and the serious atmosphere settled over the room once more. Spencer knew the moment of levity was over. It was time to get down to business.

"We did as much work on this case as we could this morning." Aaron told him as he settled down into a chair near Dave. In his hand he held a briefcase, which he set down beside the chair. Spencer watched as it set it down and then lifted his eyes up to Aaron's. In the look there he saw the question the man was asking. The silent 'Are you ready for this?' He gave the only answer he could and nodded. Aaron nodded back at him and continued as if there'd been no pause. "We ran the MO through our systems and had Garcia look for any similar crimes. So far there are no arrests, no one in custody that matches the descriptions that you gave."

There was something about the way he said it that had Spencer immediately sitting up straight. A lead feeling sat in his stomach. "There were other reports."

The nod he got was only a confirmation of what he'd already known. Spencer's insides twisted as Dave said "We found four other cases similar to yours."

"And those are only what's been reported." Spencer said softly. How many had been like him, too afraid to report this? How many people had been hurt because he'd been quiet and hadn't stopped these bastards already?

"Not all of them happened after you, Reid" Derek spoke up. "You aren't to blame for these. Three of them happened before your attack. You're victim number four. These, they aren't your fault. Even if they had happened after, they still wouldn't be your fault." His voice was soft and full of love. Shame curled through Spencer's stomach. What had he done to deserve this kind of love from his friends? Here they were, ready to stand by him; to support him no matter what the press said. They were here to try and help salvage things, not for image, but for him. What had he done to deserve this kind of love and loyalty? Nothing.

Clear as a bell he could see one instance after another coming at him, showing him how he had fucked up, what he had done wrong—and there were so many things he had done wrong. Starting with walking back to that bathroom by himself, all the way up to now. What an idiot he was. How many mistakes was he going to make?

"Of course y' aint t'blame." Remy spoke up, startling him. He didn't move from his position of hugging Spencer's leg. Though Spencer couldn't see it, Remy didn't even have his eyes open. He was smiling and lightly rubbing his hand against Spencer's calf without even seeming to realize. "De only ones t'blame fo' dis are dose fuckin' _connards_ dat t'ink dey can get away with dis shit. Dey'll realize deir mistakes when y' use dat brain of y'rs t'take em down, cher. Dey don't stand a chance against y'."

The absolute confidence in Remy's voice was like a balm on Spencer's heart. Impulsively, he bent himself down and lightly kissed the top of Remy's head, much as Remy often did to him. "Thank you." He whispered softly against his hair.

For the moment, all Remy could think of was that this was the first time that Spencer had ever kissed him, even if it was on the head, since the incident had happened. He had allowed Remy to kiss his forehead or his head, but he'd never been able to return it. This kiss, combined with the words he'd spoken, was a big step. He only wished they were alone so that they could celebrate it together.

Without being able to see Remy's face, he didn't know that the man was smiling, or that one tear slid down his cheek. All Spencer felt was Remy turning slightly to bury his face against his leg. He didn't even see the smiles the others wore. Spencer was too busy closing his eyes and drawing in a breath to try and steady himself.

"We've got five cases so far with the potential for more." Aaron said in his deep voice as he sat back. His words weren't harsh, but more a summary of what they were facing. "With the information you gave the police and the sketches, there's a good chance that we might be able to find them. But, if Garcia comes up with nothing in the system, we need to think about alternative ways to handle this."

It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant by that. On any other case, Spencer knew what they would do. "You want to release the images to the public."

"It's our best chance of finding someone who might recognize them, as well as any other potential victims." Emily said gently.

"It's the smart play to make." Spencer said. He hated it, but it was true. "I understand that and I won't make a fuss. Release what you need to. Just…please, try to keep my name out of this if at all possible. I don't…" He didn't want to see his name blasted through the press. _I don't want them to know that I said anything._ In the back of his mind he heard that sickening voice whispering its threats, pulling up out of his memories to taunt him once more. _'You tell anyone about this, pretty girl, and we'll finish what we started with you here tonight. An then we'll visit each and every member of your family. You hear me?'_

"Your name doesn't have to be mentioned." Aaron reassured him. Everyone had heard the small amount of panic in Spencer's voice. "We'll put something together about the Unsubs, minus any victim information except for victimology, and we'll have a press conference this afternoon."

This afternoon. Oh, God. Spencer focused on the touch of Remy's hand against his leg and tried to keep the panic down. Being an agent working a case like this was one thing. Being involved, having to be on the other side of things? It was an experience he'd never wanted to have. He understood now far too well how some victims felt when they worked their cases.

By the time it came time for them to leave, Spencer was on edge, jumpy and a little shaky, and more than ready to go back to his apartment and hide out for the next little while. He hated that he felt that way but at the moment his pride could go to hell. He just wanted Remy to get him out of here and somewhere safe. Somewhere that he could feel more secure. He just wanted to hide out a little and wait for this sick feeling inside of him to go away.

The next few days were going to be hard, he knew, and he was terrified he wasn't going to make it through them. Clinging tightly to Remy's hand, he hoped with everything he had that he could make it. If he could just get through this, just hold on until these bastards were caught, maybe he'd finally be able to start to really heal. Because there was a part of Spencer that told him that he wouldn't ever heal until he knew these bastards were behind bars.

* * *

The next few days were something from Spencer's own, personal hell. He wasn't allowed back at work; not to work on this, not to work on _anything_. Now that he had an official case open, his vacation from the Bureau had become mandatory. Until he was cleared by a Bureau approved psychologist, he wasn't going to be allowed back to work. And once he was approved, he wouldn't be allowed to work his own case. He had to stay out of it and just trust in his team to handle it. In some ways, he was grateful for it, but in others ways it drove him crazy not being involved.

What was harder still was watching the story unfold to the press. Seeing as the faces that haunted is nightmares, and even sometimes his waking hours, were put out there on every news channel for everyone to see.

They kept the TV off in Spencer's apartment after watching one of the news stories had him crying and hyperventilating. It took Remy almost an hour to get him to calm down from that.

Remy stayed a firm and steady presence at Spencer's side through all of this and if it wasn't for him, Spencer knew he might not have gotten through those days. Remy kept him focused, kept his mind active on other things that _weren't_ this case, and he was there each and every night as the nightmares came back stronger than ever. He was there to reassure Spencer each and every day that he had nothing to be afraid of. That he was there and he'd help to keep Spencer safe.

Neither had any idea how much that promise would be put to the test.

* * *

Just a week after the news story had been released, Spencer had once more been called in to speak with the team. Once again, Aaron had managed to make it an informal meeting, having Spencer and Remy come to his place and not to the Bureau. How much longer he'd be able to get away with that Spencer wasn't quite sure. For now, he was going to enjoy it. It meant that Remy could stay with him. Spencer ignored the voice in his head that kept reminding him that he was going to have to go back to work without Remy soon enough. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The meeting with Aaron wasn't a long one. Spencer just had to make a more formal statement about a few parts of his story. They needed just a little more detail. Hard as it was, Spencer gave it to him, clutching tightly to Remy's hand the entire time.

"We're doing everything we can to bring them in, Reid." Aaron told him when they were all done.

Spencer smiled softly at him. "I know, sir."

And he did know. He knew his team was doing their best and that they wouldn't stop. That was what helped to hold him together sometimes. That was what kept him going. His team wouldn't let go of this. So long as there was a lead to work, they'd do it.

They got back to his apartment late in the evening. Spencer was exhausted, a long day full of emotional moments had drained him. He'd come to learn over these past few months just how tiring emotions could be. It was something he'd known logically before but hadn't quite understood. Strong emotions were _exhausting_. Trying to fight back panic, working past fear, trying to stay calm, feeling scared, all of those combined into a cocktail that just sucked the energy right out of a person. All he wanted was to curl back up in bed and go to sleep. That was his plan as he leaned against Remy on their way up the stairs to his apartment.

All of that changed in an instant.

The two turned the corner onto Spencer's floor and the young genius looked up with sleep heavy eyes. It took a split second for his brain to wake up enough to register what it was he was seeing. By the time it clicked, Remy was already trying to step in front of him, cursing lightly, but it was too late.

Dread curled in Spencer's stomach. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and run as far as he could in the opposite direction. Yet somehow he found himself twisting around Remy and moving forward. His feet wouldn't listen to him. His brain screamed to go, to run, but his feet took him ever closer, until he was standing right in front of the door.

Everything in him locked down. In that one instant he became the same scared, shaking mess that he had been before Remy had saved him. The fear clawed its way through him until it was all he could see, all he could feel. He didn't realize that his breath was coming in and out in great gasps. He didn't notice the small, wheezing whine that started in the back of his throat, steadily growing louder.

Familiar arms came around him and drew him firmly back. Even through the panic and the fear Spencer recognized the touch. He knew the safety that was in that embrace for him.

But even as Remy pulled him back, as he tried to get Spencer away and to safety, Spencer couldn't take his eyes off his door. He couldn't look away from the note, pinned there by a knife. The words, written in blood red, were burned into his brain so that even when the door was out of sight he could still see them in his mind's eye.

'You were warned, pretty girl.'


	8. Chapter 8

Nothing seemed to make sense. Everything was like a blur around him. Spencer couldn't distinguish the voices that were talking or any of the bodies that were around him. He couldn't even figure out where he was. The only two things that were constant in his world at the moment was the image of that note stabbed into his door, and Remy's arms around him. Not once since Remy had first grabbed Spencer had he let go. For that Spencer was grateful. Remy was like an anchor for him, keeping him somewhat grounded in the swirling chaos. He never registered the police showing up, or being bundled into a car. Shock dulled his senses and made him like a doll in Remy's arms.

"C'mon, cher, I got y'." Remy murmured in his ear. "We just gotta get over to Derek's car here, all right? We're gonna get in de car an den dey're gonna take us to a hotel fo' a while to keep y' safe. C'mon, _bébé_."

Spencer let himself be moved. Let his body be put into a car. It was better in here, actually. Remy was better able to pull Spencer to him, practically drawing him into his lap.

 _Oh sweet God_. Those words played over and over in Spencer's mind. What was he going to do? What the hell was he going to do? He'd done it now. He'd opened his mouth and told people what had happened, even though they'd warned him not to, and now he was in so much trouble. As Remy might say, he was fucked—totally, royally fucked. They were going to come for him and they were going to kill him. He was going to die. Oh God. Oh God.

Something was touching his face, trying to get his attention. Spencer recognized it as Remy's hand, which was the only thing that kept him from jumping backwards. He tried to focus, to bring his attention under enough control that he'd be able to understand what Remy was saying.

" _Mon amour_ , I want y' t'take dis fo' me, _d'accord_?" Remy's voice sounded like a buzz, distant and hard to understand. But that hand that had been touching his face was moving towards his mouth now and that was something that he did understand. Spencer reacted instinctively, opening his mouth to take what Remy was giving him. Then something else was pressed there, a bottle he thought. He took a swallow, drinking down whatever it was. Remy's hand was back over his cheek and the bottle was gone, and he was whispering something. The words weren't clear, but just the sound of Remy's voice was enough for him.

He was being moved again, pulled into Remy's arms and cradled like he was a child. Remy was _carrying_ him somewhere. Where, he didn't care. What did it matter? They were coming for him and they would kill him. What did it matter where he went?

Panic was so strong it threatened to suck him down under the dark cloud of it and take him away. It was tempting to allow it. To just give himself over to the darkness. How could he keep doing this? He couldn't handle continuing to live in this kind of fear, this kind of pain. He turned himself into Remy a little more and buried his face against the Cajun's neck. The rest of the world ceased to exist around him. Where he was, where Remy was taking him, who might be with them, all of it faded away.

The arms holding Spencer moved a little and then he found himself being carefully set down on something soft. _A bed._ It must be a bed. Whose, though? Vaguely he remembered Remy mentioning a hotel but they hadn't been traveling for that long, had they? The thought came and went too quickly for Spencer to hold it. What did it matter? Remy was taking care of him. Remy always took such good care of him. Making sure he ate or slept. Helping him when the panic was out of control. What would he do without him? That thought was almost as terrifying as the rest.

A part of Spencer recognized that his thoughts weren't making sense anymore, but he couldn't seem to control them. Whatever Remy had given him was starting to suck him under a little. Those strong arms never left as they lay down together on the bed. Then, Remy's voice was in his ear, clear over the rest of the noise. "Shh, _bébé_. Just go t'sleep. I'll stay with y' until y' go t'sleep. Y'r safe here. I promise y', no one's gonna get past me t'get t'y'. Just go t'sleep."

That sounded like a good idea. Spencer gave up the fight and let the waves of blackness suck him under.

* * *

Once Remy was sure Spencer was asleep, he disentangled himself from his love and quietly crept from the bedroom. Thank God for Emily, who had promised to keep people out of there while he got Spencer settled. If there had been others in there, no telling how long it would have taken for Spencer to go to sleep. Even with as out of it as he'd been, he would've noticed others in the room and it wouldn't have gone over very well. Emily and Derek both had stayed with them to help keep others back. Remy had been too focused on getting Spencer the hell away from his apartment to worry about dealing with any officers or idiots that might want to talk to them.

The shock had numbed Spencer first, so much so that he'd barely even noticed as everyone showed up. He hadn't even looked up from Remy's chest when the BAU team had arrived and come over to them.

Aaron had come prepared. The minute he'd gotten the call, he'd arranged for a hotel for them. It was easier than taking him to one of their houses. On that, Remy had to agree. He knew how to set up a protective detail on someone, just as he knew how to get _past_ said detail, and if done right, it was harder to get past them in a good hotel than in a private residence.

It broke Remy's heart a little just how much Spencer had clung to him as he'd loaded his partner into the back of Derek's SUV. Had Spencer even realized they were getting in a car? Had he registered anything other than that momentary fear that Remy might let go of him? Somehow, he doubted t. Spencer had been too focused on trying to keep a tight grip on Remy.

Bless Summer for thinking ahead for bad moments. She'd discussed it with both Spencer and Remy before sending them back here and made sure that Remy knew the dosage for all Spencer's daily medication, as well as what to give him in case of an emergency. This had been an emergency. The extra bottle that Remy kept on his person had come in handy, though he'd carried it constantly hoping to never have to use it. He hated that he had to slip the pill to the young genius. Hated the drugged, glazed look in his eyes as he'd been laid down on the bed.

For now, it would keep him out, and that was what mattered the most. Spencer needed rest. He needed time.

Remy quietly shut the door to the bedroom and then turned to face the living room of the suite that they were in. Vaguely he wondered if the Bureau was footing the bill for this room. It was a pretty nice one.

It wasn't just Derek and Emily who were waiting for him. Aaron and Dave were both there as well now.

Seeing the questions on their faces, Remy held up his hands to forestall them. "Spencer won't be up t'answering anyt'ing fo' a while." He told them. "I gave him one of de meds dat Dr. Winters prescribed fo' emergencies. He'll be out most of de evening—maybe even t'night, if we're lucky." If they weren't lucky, the nightmares would have him up sooner rather than later.

"Do we need a doctor here?" Derek asked. His eyes darted over to the door and then back to Remy and there was obvious worry there. He'd seen just how zombie-like Spencer had been; it was no wonder he was worried.

Remy shook his head. "I doubt he'd let a doctor close enough t'look at him, _mon ami._ He aint in de best frame of mind. Right now, he needs rest. We'll deal with de rest of it when he wakes up, yeah? Let his mind try t'find a way t'cope with all dis first." His own exhaustion was starting to build up in Remy a little. He ran a hand over his face and briefly moved his sunglasses just enough to rub at his eyes. _Dieu_ , what else could go wrong today? His mind was swirling with the implications of that note. Remy felt anger burning low in his stomach, overpowering his own fear. The eyes that locked onto everyone were now burning with his temper. "What I want t'know," Remy said slowly, looking from one member of the BAU to the next, "is how de hell someone managed t'get t'his apartment an leave a note like dat, with a knife dat size, without being caught by one single person? Y'all had to have been keeping him under some kind of protective watch, didn't y'? How'd someone get in dere and manage dat? Hell, how'd dey even know where he lived! His information was kept outta de public light with dis case!"

"Reid declined protective custody." Aaron told him, stunning Remy. When the hell had the kid done that?

"Great." Remy growled out. "Just great. First, he's gotta come home and tell dis story of his over and over. He's gotta tell y'all, tell de police, an den watch as de case is put on TV. He's gotta see dose faces on de news and in papers all over. Den, after we all promise him how face and secure he is, someone manages to get to his fuckin' apartment an pin a note on his door with a damn _knife_. Do y' guys realize de danger dis puts him in? Not just from dem, either—from _himself_. He's barely started healing from dis!" All the pain and anger Remy felt was spilling out of him. He couldn't keep it locked inside. He'd kept it locked up so much lately in his efforts to help the man he loved. Here, now, with the fear licking at his insides, he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of him.

Aaron was the only one brave enough to step towards the pissed off mutant. "We know how bad this is, Remy. Trust us, we're going to do everything we can to keep Reid safe and to help him through this."

The rage and fear that Remy felt overpowered his usual reserves. They had him pulling back from them all and saying things that he usually would've kept locked behind his teeth. " _Désolé, mais_ dat don't quite reassure me. No one's really done a good job of dat so far, hm? Aint like anyone in dis room even knew what was goin' on until he came back here and told y'all. Y' didn't even know when he was so low he tried t'kill himself. De only reason he's still alive is cause I got tired of him hidin' from me an I came out here and forced de truth outta him."

Derek raised a hand. "Now, just hold on a second…"

" _Non_." Remy snapped at him. He spun towards Derek, furious eyes flashing. He lifted a finger and pointed it at them all. "Not a one of y' took de time t'try an force him t'talk. None of y' tried t'make sure he was okay." He drew his hand back in and slapped it against his chest. " _I did._ I was de one who went to his house and found him slicing his stomach open. I'm de one who followed him t'dat hotel an just barely managed t'keep him from killin' himself. I caught him on dat balcony, I pulled him back up. I'm de one dat took him to a counselor an got him help. I'm de one dat holds him at night when de nightmares get him cryin' an shakin'. I'm de one who helps him through his panic attacks. Where de fuck were all of y' den, huh?" He dropped his hands down and scowled furiously at them. "Y' t'ink I'm gonna feel better cause y' say y'll try t'keep him safe? Where de hell were y' when he needed y' b'fore?"

The room had gone dead silent. This time it was Dave who tried to speak. His voice was low and full of pain that almost had Remy feeling guilty. "We know that we messed up before, Remy. We let him slide. We won't let that happen this time."

A part of Remy wanted to tell them 'Too little too late'. It was the same thing he'd wanted to tell them last time, when he'd helped to pick up the pieces after Georgia, after Spencer's initial bout with Dilaudid. Logic told him why they hadn't been able to step in. He knew the reasons that they hadn't pushed it with Spencer then, and why they hadn't now. Especially Aaron. If they didn't know, they didn't have to report it, and Spencer could keep his job, a job that he loved. Remy just wished for once someone would say 'screw the job' and worry about their _friend_ first.

Fighting with them would accomplish nothing, though. It would only upset Spencer later if he found out about it. With iron will, Remy grabbed his temper and shoved it down as far as he could. It left behind fear and exhaustion in its place. Once more, he ran his hand over his face while he tried to gather his composure. "Do y' got any idea what dis is gonna do t'him?"

Remy brought his hands up to run them over his face again. "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to him?" Leaning back against the wall, he sighed and let his head drop back.

There was the soft sound of footsteps and then Emily's slender hand came to rest on his shoulder. "We know we messed up before, Remy, we do. But we're going to do things right this time. We won't let him down and we won't lose him."

With weary eyes, Remy looked over at the woman beside him. "Dat's de hardest part, cher. I don't know if we'll be able t'save him dis time. I aint got a clue what dis is gonna do to his mental state."

Those chilling words left a heavy silence over the room.

* * *

It was the middle of the night by the time the cops left and the agents separated. Remy stood in the middle of the hallway outside Spencer's room, exhausted from all the questions. He hadn't wanted to step away from the hotel room. He hadn't wanted to leave Spencer alone. But the cops had needed his statement and they were doing all their work in the hallway to try not to disturb Spencer. So he'd left Derek and Aaron in there, and Emily and Dave had stood with Remy as support while he answered the questions of a couple officers.

All Remy wanted to do now was curl up in bed beside Spencer and sleep. Forget, for a while, the danger that now surrounded them. To just feel Spencer in his arms and know that he was safe.

But as he walked in the door to his hotel room, Remy heard a sound that told him his evening wasn't over with yet. Even as the sound registered in his brain he was already moving through the empty living room, rushing back to the bedroom. Without breaking stride he flung the door open. What he found was worse than what he'd thought it would be.

Spencer was on the floor, his back pressed into the corner of the wall. His eyes were wide and slightly glazed with both panic and the residual effects of the drug he'd been given earlier—a dangerous combination. Scared and still drugged enough that he was probably having a hard time telling what was real here and what wasn't. Aaron and Derek stood back a bit from Spencer, their hands raised. On Aaron's arm was a cut that was bleeding sluggishly, and in Spencer's hands was obviously the weapon he'd used to create that cut. It looked like he'd grabbed the lap from the dresser and broke the bulb part off on the wall so that he held the rest of it in front of him as a weapon.

"Get away from me!" Spencer shrieked loudly, brandishing his lamp at them. "Get back!"

In an instant Remy took in the situation, and took control. He didn't care that these two were trained professionals when it came to dealing with panicked victims. He didn't even care that they were Spencer's friends. All he cared about was that Spencer was terrified and these two weren't helping. "Aaron, Derek, step back." He told the two calmly. At the sound of his voice, Spencer's eyes turned toward him. There was a flash of recognition there, but Spencer didn't move or drop his weapon.

Once the two started to slowly back away, Remy took their place, his hands in the air. "Spencer, cher, it's me. I know y' hear me. I know y' see me. I'm right here."

For one split second Remy thought that Spencer was going to relax. But then anger joined the pain in those chocolate eyes. "Where were you?" Spencer screeched at him. "You left me alone! You promised you wouldn't leave me!"

Those words were like a stab to the heart. They cut sharp and deep and Remy felt the backs of his eyes burn a little. But right now wasn't the time to indulge that. Right now, he had to get Spencer calm. " _Je suis désolé, mon amour._ De cops were here and I had to give dem my statement, dat's all. I was just right outside de room. _Mais_ dey're gone now, an I'm here. I'm here and y'r safe, Spencer, I promise y'. Y'r safe."

It was agonizing to see his so-strong Spencer reduced to such fear. Tears spilled over from Spencer's eyes and his hands started to shake around the lamp. "I had a nightmare and I, I wanted you. I called for you. But, but they didn't get you for me." A tremor ran down Spencer's body. His glazed eyes went a little wider, drifting over to the others and then back to Remy, and Remy was almost positive that Spencer didn't even recognize his friends right now. Waking up with the medication still in his system, terrified from a nightmare? He probably only saw two men and that was it. His heart broke a little more when Spencer's voice gave a wobble and turned softer, almost child-like. "They…they tried to touch me. I don't, I don't want anyone touching me."

How many times could a heart break? "Ah, cher. I know y' don't." Remy said softly. He took a small step forward. " _Je suis désolé, mon amour. Mon cœur._ I won't leave y' like dat again, y' got m' word. I'm here now an aint no one gonna touch y' again unless y' want it. _I_ won't touch y' unless y' want me to."

The lamp bounced with the force of Spencer's shaking. Suddenly he turned and dropped it. Like a little kid, he held his arms out to Remy, who wasted no time in moving to scoop him up. "Please hold me." Spencer whispered in his ear. "I can make it through this if you just hold me for a while. Please."

Cradling Spencer to him, Remy moved to sit on the bed, drawing his partner in a little closer. "As long as y' need, Spencer."


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: So, remember that this story has all been based off an old story. I debated long and hard about changing the ending, but after talking with the person that originally wrote it, we decided to keep the ending and not give a damn how cheesy it is. So yeah, the next chapter is cheesy as hell, I think, but you get it anyways :)_

* * *

Things didn't get any better that night after Spencer's first terrifying nightmare. What little sleep he managed to get after that was broken and sporadic. All in all he probably managed a few hours total and that could mostly be credited to the medication Remy had given him. Still, that wore off eventually, burned through his system quickly as all medication seemed to do, and not even the safety of Remy's arms holding him could keep the nightmares at bay after that.

He knew that Remy didn't sleep any better than he did. Each time that Spencer woke, struggling to calm himself, Remy was there to quietly help talk him back down, or sing to him. He would help chase the demons away and then soothe Spencer until he could try to go back to sleep again. No matter what he was there for him, never once leaving. Spencer appreciated that more than he could express with words.

Somewhere in the nightmares and the panic and everything, Spencer came to some startling conclusions about his life. Now, in the light of day, he found his belief in those conclusions even stronger. He looked at Remy's sweet face, finally sleeping, and very gently extracted himself from the bed. As silently as possible he moved out of the bedroom. A smile curved Spencer's lips when he saw the cigarettes and coat sitting near the patio door. He could easily imagine Remy indulging in those last night before talking with the police. Cigarettes were Remy's stress relief. He also knew that, once or twice when the panic was really bad, Spencer had taken a cigarette from him just to try and see if it could help settle him. It'd been something he'd done off and on during those six months before he'd gotten Remy's help, too.

Spencer was very 'anti-smoking', especially after working so hard to get his Mom to quit as a child, but during _That Time_ —that was what his brain was starting to label those six months of stupidity and fear and horrible mistakes—he hadn't really cared about what was good for him or what was bad. All he'd cared about was coping. The alcohol, the drug, smoking, cutting, anything and everything that he could do to cope. He'd given up pretty much all of those. It wasn't all that surprising now that he found himself craving the nerve steadying properties of a cigarette, especially after a night like the one he'd just gone through. What he wanted was a drink; he'd settle for this.

Without thinking too much on it, Spencer slipped on Remy's coat, grabbed the pack of cigarettes, and stepped out onto the patio. He sighed a little to himself as he pulled a cigarette out and lit it. If his team could see him right now he knew just how stunned they'd be. Even Remy had been surprised the first time he'd found Spencer smoking at his house, just after he'd started his therapy. He'd understood, though. He always seemed to understand.

The first few drags off the cigarette helped to relax some of his muscles that had gone stuff from tension and broken sleep.

It didn't really surprise him when, halfway through his cigarette, Remy stepped onto the patio with him, wrapped up in a hotel robe. "Y' shouldn't be out here on y'r own." Remy mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. He was smiling despite the censure in his words.

Spencer couldn't resist smiling in return. "I know." He reached an arm out, resting his hand on Remy's hip so that he could bring him in close. He watched the surprise on Remy's face followed quickly by a simple joy. Spencer focused on that joy, letting it chase away some of his own darkness. It was even easier to do as Remy slid an arm around his waist in return, and rested his head against Spencer's shoulder. "Y' seem more peaceful dan I thought I'd find y'." Remy said quietly.

Spencer took a drag off the cigarette before holding it out to offer it to Remy. Without breaking from Spencer's shoulder, Remy leaned in long enough to take a drag of his own, letting Spencer hold it for him. The young genius smiled a little and drew it back when Remy was done. "I thought a lot last night when I couldn't sleep." He admitted as he flicked the ash away. For a minute he thought, trying to find a way to put his ideas into words. "It's a sobering thing, to look at yourself and realize that a lot of what you're becoming is of your own making."

He felt Remy startle slightly, but the Cajun didn't speak. That gave Spencer the courage to continue. No matter what, Remy was always a good listener. Even when no one else did, Remy always seemed to understand what Spencer was saying, even if it didn't always come out clearly.

"I'm not saying that the…attack…was my fault. I think that you and Summer really helped me see that I didn't ask for it. Sometimes I have to remind myself, but I'm trying to remember. What I meant was more the way I'm living my life now. The fear, and the panic. I get so focused on the past and on all the bad things. I let myself loop on it. Sometimes I can't control it, and I'll admit that. But other times I think that I could, if I tried really hard. I don't like living afraid." Spencer moved to stub out his cigarette, waving the smoke away before he turned to take Remy's hands in his. "I don't want to wake up every day and be scared, Rem. To go to sleep each night and be afraid. I don't want the time I have with you to always be full of fear. Seeing that note on my door…" here he had to pause and take a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I guess it was a wakeup call even as it terrified me."

The lump in Spencer's throat grew enough that he had to take another minute to clear it away. He looked into Remy's beautiful eyes and saw only love reflected back at him. Even through all of this, there was only love there. And seeing that love gave Spencer all the courage he needed to voice the thoughts that had been running through his mind through the night. "I love you, Remy. Saying those three words scares me at the same time that it thrills me. Somehow you got in my heart, and made a place there. You've become so much a part of my life that I don't know what I'd do without you in it. You've been my saving grace, my salvation, my peace of mind, and the other part of me. When you're gone I feel like something's missing. When I'm around you I feel complete. I feel like I can do anything, be anything, so long as you're there with me."

Tears swam in Remy's eyes, but still he didn't speak. They stared at one another as Spencer continued.

"I realized last night that I'd never told you this. If something happens to me, well, I didn't want to realize that I'd never told you how I felt. I want you to know how I feel about you and about all you've done for me. You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, Remy. Time and time again you've saved my life. Because of you, I want to get better. I want to _be_ better. I can't promise that this means that suddenly the panic attacks will stop or anything like that, but I can promise that I'm going to start trying a lot harder. When I look at you, I know that I have so much more to live for now."

The tears in Remy's eyes spilled over, running down his cheeks while his lips curved into a smile. When Spencer's hands came up, cupping his cheeks to wipe the tears away, Remy nuzzled at him, and something soft and warmed seemed to wrap around Spencer. _Remy's charm_ , his mind told him. That was Remy's charm reaching out to him, the love that the Cajun felt just overflowing from him. When Remy spoke, the emotion in his voice made his accent even thicker than normal. " _Je t'aime aussi, mon amour._ No matter how long it takes y' t'heal, I'll always love y', an I'm always gonna be here fo' y'. Y' complete me too, don't y' realize dat? Y'r de best part of me."

To Remy's surprise, Spencer leaned in and kissed him. It surprised Spencer, too, because he hadn't planned it. He kept the kiss short and yet oh so sweet. A gentle brush of lips against lips that spoke of love and commitment and so much more. It was a big step for him, to be able to do it. To do any of this. Another of the reasons that he loved Remy was that Spencer knew the man understood the importance of this step.

Yet it wasn't as hard as Spencer had thought it would be. He pulled back, staring at Remy and smiling as he wiped away more of Remy's tears. They had been right to wait on this. Right here, right now, had been the perfect moment for their first kiss. Things weren't going to suddenly be perfect now. Spencer knew he couldn't even guarantee that they would be better. But he knew he was going to try to make it better.

"Y' amaze me." Remy whispered. "I wasn't sure how y'd be dis morning. _Mais,_ dis calm, dis sweetness and love, it aint what I was expecting."

The way that Remy always told him the truth was another trait that had made Spencer realize how much he loved him. Even if it wasn't always nice, Remy told it to him like it was. "Can't promise it'll last." Spencer joked, giving a weak chuckle. He could still feel the fear sitting in the bottom of his stomach, waiting to flutter back up and consume him. "I'm holding it down as tight as I can, but I have no idea how long that'll work. It's easier when I'm with you."

"Well, we'll just have t'stick close den, won't we?"

There was nothing Spencer wanted more. This face framed between his hands had become the most precious thing in his life. "Without your help I wouldn't be here. I know that, Remy, and I want you to know that I am thankful for it. Even if it may not always seem like it. I know I fight you sometimes but it's not because you make me angry, or that I don't want to get better. I do. I just lose hope some days. I feel great on some days, and on others I feel like I'm still the same guy who walked out of that room terrified of every shadow that was out there."

"Y've come a long way, Spencer. Even when y' don't see it, y' have. Y'r a strong person and y've come so far from where y' where. Y' aint dat victim anymore."

It was Spencer's turn for his vision to be blurred by tears. He gave Remy a small smile, dropping his hands back down to let them lace with Remy's. "Thank you."

Remy's smile grew wide. " _De rien._ " He gave Spencer's hands a small squeeze and then his expression lightened, the seriousness of the moment falling away. "Why don't we go on in and get y' some breakfast, hm? Den we can figure out what we gotta do t'day."

Keeping hold of one of Spencer's hands, Remy turned to lead him inside.

Right as they turned, the glass in front of them exploded.

* * *

Both men reacted instinctively. There was no time for panic or fear to cloud their heads. In an instant, the two were moving, dropping down as low as they could and almost diving to get inside. Remy shoved Spencer in front of him, using his own body to shield the genius as they darted inside and around the wall to get them out of view. Spencer went low, his body shoved down under Remy's until he swore he could hear the Cajun's heart pounding just as hard as his.

Spencer twisted his head, wanting to say something, some of his inner panicking kicking up and licking at his insides, but his words got cut off in his throat. He ignored as the door to his room burst open and agents came swarming inside, not just his team but other agents, other officers. Spencer paid them absolutely no mind. His eyes were focused on the blood pooling on the floor and on Remy's leg.

It only took a second for Remy to notice Spencer's gasping breaths and to see where he was looking. As soon as he did, he jerked the edge of the robe over his leg, hiding it from view. "Calm down, cher, I'm fine. Just got caught on some glass, dat's all." Despite everything going on around them, the Cajun looked surprisingly calm. Being in dangerous situations like this wasn't strange to him. All that mattered to him, all he was focused on, was getting Spencer out of here and keeping him safe. Spencer could see that clearly in Remy's dark eyes as they focused on his face. "I need y' t'stay down, cher. Keep clear of de windows." He tugged on Spencer's hand, trying to pull him closer, bring him more down to Remy's level.

Aaron and two agents that Spencer didn't recognize had reached them now. Spencer hadn't even noticed them getting close. "We've got to get you two out of here." Aaron said, shifting to go towards Remy's side. His gun was in his hands but he was already holstering it even as he looked at Remy's leg and then up to his face. "Can you walk?"

The Cajun looked offended by that question. "It's just a cut, mec. Remy can walk just fine!"

Just a cut? What Spencer had seen had been a pretty decent sized gash that he was almost positive was going to need stitches. The laugh that built in Spencer's throat at that was just slightly hysterical and he fought to shove it down. It didn't go unnoticed. Remy heard it even as he cut it off and he shot a firm look Spencer's way. "I'm fine." He repeated. "Y' just keep y'r damn head low, cher, an stay outta sight. Dis bastard's shooting fuckin' crazy." He murmured something else that sounded a bit like "fuckin' amateurs" but Spencer couldn't be sure over the chaos around them.

With the help of Aaron and Spencer, Remy was hauled up to his feet and the two men were kept protected by Aaron and the two agents as they were rushed out of the room and into the hallway. Tucked up against Remy, there really wasn't anything for Spencer to do except hang on as the two were run out of the room.

Remy was a little too pale for Spencer's comfort, but he moved with purpose despite his limp and he kept himself close to Spencer's side as they were ushered down the hall and into an elevator. Only once they were in there did Remy relax a little. He slumped against the corner of the elevator and even accepted the towel that one of the agents handed over to him. However, Spencer didn't give him a chance to do anything with it. He snatched it out of Remy's hands and moved to crouch down next to him. It didn't matter that he was scared or that his hands were shaking. Remy was bleeding and Spencer had to take care of him.

He moved the robe out of the way and the sight of all the blood that was just dripping down Remy's leg was enough to make his stomach roll. He'd seen so much blood over the years in this line of work but none of it had hit him quite like this. This wasn't some stranger's blood. This was _Remy_. Spencer was shaking as he reached up and pressed the towel against the worst part of the cut. Right now he just needed to apply pressure. The doctors could worry about cleanup. Spencer just needed to get it to stop bleeding.

When he looked up at Remy he saw that some of the color had crept back into his cheeks but there were lines of pain showing around his devilish eyes. Still, the first thing he did was try and reassure Spencer. One of his hands came out to gently brush some of Spencer's hair back from his face. "I'll be fine, cher. Aint de first time dis Cajun's been shot. Aint even de worst time."

"There'll be an ambulance waiting downstairs." A voice told them. Spencer looked over and saw it wasn't an agent, but one of the local officers who had said that. Spencer hadn't even noticed who all was in the elevator with them.

"I don't need dat. Just get me to a room, I can stitch it up m'self." Remy said, eyes moving over the officer—who flinched slightly at Remy's gaze—and then over to Aaron. "Moving us outta here with a sniper out dere is a crap idea, even if he is a shitty one. De last t'ing we need is dis fucker tryin again."

"It'll be secure." Aaron reassured him. "You need an ambulance for that leg, at the very least."

Spencer could've told Aaron it was pointless to protest. Sure enough, Remy scoffed at the man. "I aint going to no hospital, M. Hotchner. I don't care what y' say. My kind aint exactly treated de best at hospitals, if y' know what I mean. An moving us aint smart anyways. Dis shooter—it was an amateur, Aaron. Dis wasn't no pro. My guess, someone got a little pissy seeing deir face on de TV an either hired some local thug t'take shots, or tried it demselves. We're damn lucky dey didn't have better aim."

Spencer stared up at Remy, stunned. He hadn't thought about any of that so far. All of his attention had been focused just on Remy. But now, those words brought home the reality of what had just happened, and what had _almost_ happened. It stunned him so that he had to be pulled up and prodded forward as the elevator doors opened. He only vaguely heard Aaron arguing with Remy, or convincing him to at least let the paramedics look at him, even if he refused the hospital.

They were rushed to a part of the hotel that Spencer thought might be a loading dock of some sort. He didn't care. His focus was on Remy. He couldn't think about any of the implications of this right now. He locked that away and just focused on the man still bleeding beside him.

Paramedics were coming toward them and they were moving to Remy's leg, taking over applying the pressure. Remy let them, though he kept Spencer close to his side the whole time. He used his grip on the young genius to pull him around to his good side and hold him in close. One of the paramedics that was looking at his arm said something to the other and then turned to them. "Sir, we need to get you to the hospital." He was pulling at Remy then, trying to guide him towards the ambulance, when another paramedic reached out and laid a hand on Spencer's arm, startling him enough that he jumped. Spencer's breathing hitched at having someone he didn't know or expect touching him but he forced himself not to panic too much at it. This wasn't about him right now. This was about Remy. He had to be strong for Remy. "Sir?" The paramedic said, her voice gentle. "We need you to step back so we can get him into the ambulance." When he said nothing, she added "You need to let go."

Aaron was there as well, moving up to discreetly step between the paramedic and Spencer, getting the strange woman's hand off him. "She's right, Reid. Let them help Remy and we'll get you somewhere safe."

The idea of leaving Remy brought up the panic that so far Spencer had been suppressing. He could feel it climbing up him, trying to take over and wash away the calm. He opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't come.

Remy had no such qualms. He yanked Spencer to him and glared around him. "He stays with me. I told y'all I aint going to no damn hospital, an if y'r gonna try an separate us den I aint gonna even bother getting checked out in y'r ambulance, neither. Spencer stays with _me_."

"Sir, we really should get you to the hospital. You've already lost a lot of blood." The paramedic told him as he was still trying to move him forward.

"I told y', I'm not going to a hospital." There was a steel in Remy's voice that told them all he wasn't going to give up on this. "I don't care how many agents y' have follow us in cars, or how locked down de hospital gets, or anyt'ing like dat. I aint going. Now, we can either go sit down at de ambulance dere and y' can patch m' leg up, or let me go an I'll go do it m'self. _Mais_ either way, Spencer stays with me."

To put an end to arguments, Remy simply pulled Spencer with him and moved on his own two feet over the back of the ambulance, bringing Spencer right in there with him. Remy took a seat on the gurney, right on the end with his leg propped up and his bleeding thigh showing, and he pulled Spencer to sit down beside him right on the bed as well. Then he lifted that arm and tucked it around Spencer's shoulders, using it to pull him in close until Spencer's head was tucked in against his neck. A little embarrassed, but eternally grateful, Spencer pressed his forehead in against Remy's skin. "Thank you." He whispered.

He could feel Remy's grin before a kiss was pressed against his hair. "Hey, I didn't do it just fo' y', y'know. I'll feel better if I can keep y' where I can see y' right now." A soft chuckle vibrated Remy's chest. "I don't trust no one t'take care of y' de way I can."

Sitting in the back of an ambulance as the man he loved was being treated for a gash on his leg that had been obtained while he and Spencer were being shot at, most likely by a sniper trying to take out _him_ , Spencer found he couldn't do anything but smile even as he shook his head. "You are insane."

"We make a perfect pair den." Remy quipped. Then he closed his eyes, holding tight as the paramedics started to clean his leg.

* * *

It took a while before Remy was cleaned up and his leg stitched up. The man refused the drugs they offered him, as Spencer had known he would. It wasn't just a personal preference but a safety precaution. Remy's physiology made him react strangely to medication, Spencer knew, and drugging him was always a risky thing. How he managed to stay still the way he did while they stitched him up was a mystery. But he stayed still and just held Spencer as he was cleaned, stitched, and then bandaged, while all the while chaos seemed to reign around them.

Someone brought them clothes at some point and the two of them used the back of the ambulance for privacy to get dressed.

When they came back out again, there were more agents then before and there was something in the air that had Spencer going still. His eyes ran over the group nearby and landed on the one that he knew would have the answers, one that he could trust—Aaron.

His Unit Chief was watching as he and Remy stepped down from the back of the ambulance. Remy's hand curled around Spencer's and Spencer gripped on tightly without ever looking away from Aaron. Something had happened. Something big. It took two tries for Spencer to make his voice work. Even then, all he got out was a croaked "Hotch?"

The man stared at Spencer a second longer as if he were assessing him. Then, in a steady voice, he said "We got him." The words hit Spencer like fists and he sucked in a sharp breath. Aaron wasn't done, though. "There was just one man, but our teams caught him and they're bringing him out now."

"I need to see him." Spencer said softly. He hadn't even realized that he was going to say it until the words came tumbling out.

Remy's hand tightened on his and Aaron's face turned even more serious. "Reid,"

"Hotch, please." Spencer cut in. "I, I need to see him. I need to see who it was. Please."

They couldn't deny that having Spencer identify the man would be helpful. It'd tell them in an instant if this was something dealing with Spencer's current case or if it was connected to something else. One look was all it would take. Spencer could see that no one here was happy about it, not Aaron and definitely not Remy, but after a long moment's pause, Aaron gave him a nod. "One look."

* * *

They went to the back of the hotel. It was where the cars were all gathered and where their shooter was being brought down to, away from the public eye.

By the time they got back there, Spencer was gripping Remy's hand so tightly it was a wonder it wasn't broken. The Cajun pushed in closer until their arms were brushing together with every single step. "Y' don't gotta do dis, Spencer." He murmured lowly to the younger man. "Y' don't have to. We can turn back an go inside and y' can wait until dey've got him safely behind bars b'fore y' have t'look at him. It doesn't have t'happen right here and right now."

"Yes, it does." His voice was just a whisper, but there was a hint of strength to it, a small glimpse of the steel that had gotten him this far in life.

Spencer tried to prepare himself. He tried to get himself ready. And yet, when he heard a voice ringing through the air, he knew that nothing couldn't prepared him for this.

He knew that voice; recognized the anger in it. It was a voice that haunted his dreams. His _life_. Without realizing it he dropped Remy's hand and stepped up to his ring of security, peeking through at the man that was being hauled over towards one of the SUV's. The sight that met him sent his stomach dropping down at the same time that his heart climbed up into his throat. There was a man being pulled toward one of the SUV's with handcuffs around his wrists—a man that Spencer knew he would never forget.

He stayed perfectly still as the man got closer. He watched, wide eyed, as the man's face came into view, and he felt like he was going to be sick. It was the leader of that little group, the only one whose name he knew. The one who had haunted Spencer the most. Al. He was the one who Spencer had bumped in to. The one who had taken the most pleasure from him; the one who had threatened to kill him if he ever told. The main voice that had tortured Spencer for the past almost seven months.

Something lit deep inside of Spencer, burning through the panic, freeing his frozen muscles. Before anyone realized what he was doing, Spencer squeezed between the wall of bodies and out into the open. He stepped into the path of the agents—Derek and Dave, his mind supplied—and he stood his ground and met the eyes of the man who had ruined his life. The man who had broken him into pieces and left him without the will to even try putting himself back together.

Al smiled as he was stopped right in front of Spencer. His eyes were hard and cold, sending a chill down Spencer's spine. "Hey, pretty girl."

Those familiar words almost had Spencer's body going into a full blown panic. He paid no attention to anyone else around him. He had no idea that everyone around him was frozen, watching him, waiting to see what would happen. He didn't know that everyone there felt he had earned this right to face this man. Derek and Dave trusted that they could keep Spencer safe. The man was cuffed and being held by them. There was nothing he could do. Even Remy was staying back, wanting to grant Spencer this moment, this chance to face his monsters.

Spencer fought back the fear and the memories and focused on the here and now. There were so many things he had always thought to himself that he would say if he was ever faced with this man again. But they wouldn't come to him now. All the things he'd wanted to say and he was frozen here, mute.

"What, cat got your tongue?" Al taunted. His smile grew sharper, and he puckered his lips slightly. "Come to give papa a kiss goodbye? I promise, I'll see you again, don't you worry."

"I don't have to be afraid of you anymore." Spencer told him defiantly. The words were tore from that broken part deep inside of him. He said it as much to himself as he did to Al. "You're a pathetic excuse for a man and you're going to rot in jail."

"We'll see about that, pretty girl." They were only inches apart now. How had they gotten that way? Everyone seemed too frozen to realize it. Al startled them all when he quickly leaned forward and ran his tongue along Spencer's jaw, up to his ear. The shudder that ran through Spencer was so big it was almost a convulsion. Al just laughed and stepped back before he could be yanked back.

Looking at him, Spencer felt every emotion inside of him build. Fear, anger, pain, disgust, and even a small amount of that insanity that had gripped him these long months. Those emotions filled him, overpowering him, giving him courage that he didn't know he had. Without warning his fist shot out, punching Al so hard in his face that the man fell backwards and Dave actually fell back with him, the profiler connecting with the SUV while Al hit the ground.

Spencer didn't waste time. He jumped on top of Al with a wild shout, punching him for all he was worth. He grabbed the collar of Al's shirt to hold him there, and punched his face with his other hand. He didn't realize that he was screaming at him, words that broke the hearts of those around him. "How does it feel? Huh? How does it feel to be helpless?" Spencer screamed at him. "You like being held down, not being able to defend yourself? Does it feel good? _You ruined my life_!"

Derek tried to grab a hold of him, to pull him off, but then Al bucked his body and sent him and Spencer rolling sideways. Before anyone could grab him, he was trying to ram his knee into Spencer's stomach. He got a few solid blows in with his knees before Dave and Derek and a few other agents were there, were pulling him back. Instead of curling up on the ground, Spencer let out a wild yell and launched again, tackling them both to the ground.

Four police officers grabbed hold of Spencer, pulling him backwards, while others were trying to fight to hold Remy back, who was doing his damndest to get to his partner. Spencer bucked against the hands holding him back. Instead of stopping him, it only added the slick layer of panic to everything, making him fight harder. He didn't know who was grabbing him. All he knew was that there were hands on him, holding him and trying to carry him away.

It was the smug smirk on Al's face that did him in. Spencer didn't stop to think about his actions. He didn't take time to try to be rational. Reacting solely on emotion, he reached his arm down just as he broke free from the cops, grabbing the gun that rested in the holster there. Before anyone realized what had happened, Spencer was standing away from everyone, the gun in his hands pointed straight at Al's head.

The whole area went silent. One of the cops made to move, to step between Al and Spencer, and Spencer let out a growl. "Stay out of my way."

Al's eyes had grown wide at first, but they were slightly mocking now. "You think you're gonna shoot me, pretty girl? You don't have the balls to do it." He taunted.

In response, Spencer drew the hammer back, enjoying the way it echoed around them. Never had it felt so good to hold on to a gun before.

No one dared come near him. All it would take was one squeeze, and the man who had done this would be dead. Never again would he have to be afraid of him coming back. In this moment, Spencer had the power, for the first time in a long time. He was taking his power back from him in the most final way.

But something was in his way. Spencer watched as Remy stepped around the agents and officers and right between the gun and Al. "No, Spencer." He said firmly.

"Move."

Remy shook his head, taking a step closer. "I won't let y' shoot him."

The gun shook slightly before Spencer managed to firm it. "You know what he did to me. What they all did to me. He deserves it."

" _Je sais,_ cher. I know he does. But y'r not gonna be de one t'do it."

Tears pricked the corners of Spencer's eyes. He noticed that Derek was starting to move Al away and he shifted his gun toward him. Remy followed, staying in the pathway. "Move, Remy!"

"I won't. Listen t'me, Spencer. Y' aint like him. Dis aint who y' are."

"I'm exactly what he made me!"

" _Non_." Remy shook his head, taking another step toward Spencer. Slowly, very cautiously, he was closing the distance between them. "No, y'r not. Y'r so much more dan dat. Y'r better dan dis; stronger. Dey've taken so much from y'. Don't let em take y'r life, too. Dat's what y'r gonna be giving up t'do dis. Y'r job, y'r career, y'r life."

The shaking came back to Spencer's hands. "They tried to destroy my life. They…they raped me and they hurt me and left me in that room. They didn't care if I died." Spencer didn't realize that the tears were pouring down his cheeks. His vision was clear enough to keep his gun trained just over Remy's shoulder to a small hint of Al's head. "It was funny, to hurt me. They didn't care how much I bled. They didn't care that I couldn't sit right for a week afterwards. They laughed at me! Just because I bumped him in the hallway. Because I was alone. But I'm not alone anymore, and I'm not such an easy target."

Another step, and then another. Remy was almost right in front of him now. "Y'r better dan dis." He repeated softly, staring into Spencer's eyes. There was so much love there that Spencer found he couldn't look away. "Spencer Reid, I love you. We're fixing things, y' an I, and we're making a life t'gether. Don't throw it away fo' him. Don't let him take dis away from us too."

Instead of reaching for the gun, Remy stepped forward and cupped his hand to Spencer's cheek. He stretched up, brushing their lips together. Spencer couldn't move. He felt his shudders grow until the urge to collapse into Remy's arms was almost too much to resist.

Remy pressed their cheeks together. "Put de gun down, Spencer." He whispered in his ear. " _S'il tu plat_ , fo' me? Put de gun down."

For a moment Spencer hesitated. Then, carefully, he loosened his grip and lowered the point, holding the gun out to an officer who was close by. Once the gun was out of his hands, Remy was wrapping his arms around him, one hand going to the back of Spencer's head to pull him in against his shoulder. Spencer found his face buried in the curve of Remy's neck as he took great, quivering gasps of air. Slowly he brought his arms up, wrapping them around Remy's waist.

Neither of them paid any attention as Al was taken away. Their entire focus was on one another. Remy held Spencer close, and Spencer clung to Remy like a lifeline.

Softly, Remy whispered in Spencer's ear. "I'm so proud of y', cher. So damn proud. Y' were so strong. Y' did what was right. _Je t'aime, mon amour. Je t'aime._ "

"I love you too, Rem." Spencer whispered back. He sniffled, ignoring the tears that were soaking the shoulder of Remy's shirt. "Can…can we go home?" He just wanted to go home.

He didn't know that Remy caught Aaron's eye over his shoulder, or that the two exchanged a quick, speaking look. But he felt as Remy rubbed his cheek against his. "Sure t'ing, cher. Let's get y' home."


	10. Chapter 10

Going home didn't mean that it was all done with. Even though Spencer and Remy were cleared to go back to Spencer's apartment, there was still so much that had to be done. Statements that had to be made, questions that were asked. The rest of the day was spent with answering police questions, giving their statements, answering the questions that his team needed. By the time evening rolled around, Remy was annoyed enough with them all that he finally demanded that Derek clear the apartment for them before he did it himself. The glowing snap to his devil eyes was more than enough to convince a few people to get the hell out. The only thing that had kept Remy from exploding already was the man curled up against his side, half asleep.

The two had curled up on the couch together while they answered questions. It let Remy have his leg propped up on a pillow and the coffee table, per Spencer's orders, and it also had allowed Spencer to tuck himself in against Remy's side. It hadn't escaped anyone's notice that Remy had tucked Spencer into the corner of the couch and then put himself between Spencer and the rest of them. It was his very un-subtle way of protecting his partner. Spencer hadn't protested, either. He'd just sort of curled in against Remy like a child. His legs were overtop Remy's thigh—his good leg was towards Spencer—dangling down between Remy's knees, and one arm was squished between him and the couch, while the other was draped over Remy's stomach.

No one had really bothered to ask Spencer much. He didn't volunteer much either. He kept his face buried against Remy's shoulder and neck and for the most part ignored anyone who came near them. Once he spoke up when he felt Remy wince. Even then, it was only to chide him for moving too much and to make sure he was okay. It earned him a gentle smile and a kiss to the forehead. "Hush, cher. Remy's fine."

The second time he spoke up was when someone tried to tell him to go lay down for a while and relax. His eyes were sharp suddenly and they slashed across them all in surprising anger. "Last I checked I wasn't the one that was hurt today." He reminded them all in a low, slightly raspy voice. "I'll stay by him till he's ready for bed."

No one else knew how big a deal it was for Spencer to have that sign of temper. The others looked uncomfortable by it—Remy practically glowed. It was a positive sign in his eyes. Spencer hadn't displayed much temper at all in such a long time. To see it come out there, against three other males, even if one of those males was a friend….that, well, it was fantastic.

But finally Remy had enough. He was tired of answering questions. Tired of analyzing every movement of the entire day. He was just tired, period, and his stitches were throbbing. The lidocaine they'd put on it was wearing off.

When the door shut behind the last person, Remy sagged into the cushions slightly. " _Merci Dieu_." He mumbled.

"Amen to that." Spencer echoed, surprising Remy.

Smiling, Remy looked down, catching Spencer's gaze. There was still some pain in those chocolate eyes, but it was mostly overshadowed by love.

Yet again Spencer surprised him when he tipped his head up, kissing Remy so very lightly. When he pulled back, both of them were smiling. "Let's go lie down." Spencer suggested softly. The idea sounded like a good one, so Remy rose with him and they moved back to the bedroom. After making a stop to do the evening essentials of teeth brushing and using the facilities, the two men shut off all lights but the bedside lamp and climbed in to bed.

As was the norm Spencer curled against Remy. Tonight, though, he propped his head up on his hand, his elbow braced on the bed. There was something in his eyes that had Remy lying perfectly still. What it was, he couldn't have said, but it demanded his full attention.

Spencer's free hand came up, the knuckles of it running over Remy's cheek. Remy didn't know what to do or what to say. This was more like the old Spencer, the one who wasn't afraid of touching with him. With others, yes, but not with him. The light in Spencer's eyes and the gentle touch of Spencer's hand had Remy's heart swelling with so much love, he knew it would be leaking from him, little tendrils of charm threatening to slip into the room. Spencer had to have felt it, but he just smile.

* * *

Something inside of Spencer felt alive in a way that he hadn't in so long. He almost hadn't recognized the feeling, as it had been so long. But he stared down into Remy's eyes, stroking his knuckles across that beautiful face, and it flared to life in him. Not the all-consuming blaze that it had been, once upon a time. But a nice low warmth wrapped in love and tenderness. _Desire._

He didn't speak for fear of ruining the moment. This was too new, too important. He had never thought he'd feel anything like this again and was terrified that the wrong thing would make it go away. So he stared at Remy and let the feeling build. He moved his eyes over the bare skin of Remy's neck, his chest, down to one of the smaller cuts the glass had created on his arm.

Spencer moved his hand to one of those cuts, not touching it really, but touching the skin softly below it. Without intending to, he spoke his thoughts aloud. "You almost got shot because of me. You saved me." He whispered. Remy didn't respond; there was nothing that he could say. He just continued to watch Spencer with those glowing eyes so full of patience and love. He didn't try to take control of the situation. Instead he allowed Spencer the freedom to explore this feeling again, and to be in control. Bending down, Spencer laid a gentle kiss overtop the little cut. Then on the skin above it. Soft as air, he made a trail of kisses along Remy's skin. Over his shoulder and up the side of his neck. Everywhere his lips touched, chills ran over Remy's skin. When he finally reached the warmth of Remy's mouth, the man kissed him back just as tenderly as Spencer had been kissing his skin.

The warmth in Spencer's stomach spread, filling him. He reveled in it and in Remy's kiss. He pulled back, his breathing a little heavier. "I want to be with you, Remy." His words surprised him, but he could see that they surprised Remy even more. Yet, Spencer had to be as honest as possible. "I don't know if it'll work. I might still, well, get scared."

He could see Remy wanted to protest, at least briefly, and Spencer hoped that he wouldn't. He had no idea if this was going to work but he wanted so badly to try. He wanted to see if he could do this; if this feeling would stay. He wanted to be close to Remy. Today, he'd taken back some of his power from the man who had destroyed him. He wanted to take back a little more.

Something of that must've showed on Remy's face. His eyes softened and the words he'd been about to say changed. "If y' really wanna try, Spencer, we can." Remy said slowly. His voice held an infinite amount of love. "All y'll have t'do is day de word and I'll stop, I promise y'."

When Spencer shifted back onto the bed a little, Remy propped himself up as well, so that they were on their sides, face to face. Color flooded Spencer's cheeks and he found himself picking at the bed, eyes averted as he spoke his fears. "It's not just the fear that might kick in. I mean, that's a big part, and that's a possibility. But I, uh, I don't know if I'll be able to, well…I mean, since then, I haven't even, on my own…" frustrated, he trailed off.

"Are y' afraid y'r body won't respond, Spencer?"

Leave it to Remy to ask so bluntly and yet still manage to sound sweet. There was no censure in his voice, no trace of mockery. Spencer had been terrified that Remy would laugh at him. A stupid fear, he knew. Remy never laughed at him for things. But, he hadn't been able to help it. "A little." He admitted, still picking at the bed and staring at his fingers. "I tried, on my own, and nothing happened."

"If it doesn't, dan it's not de right time. We'll just stop and try again another time. Dis aint a race. If y' aint ready, den y' aint. It's nothing t'be ashamed of, cher."

"I feel like it is. Did they take this from me too?"

Remy's free hand came down and covered Spencer's lightly. "Until y'r head's really ready fo' dis, y'r body aint gonna respond, trust me. It aint gonna let y' do something dat y'r brain is sacred of. If y' feel like y'r ready, in y'r heart and y'r mind, den we'll try dis. But y' don't have t'be ready yet, Spencer. We can take all de time y' need. I don't mind waiting fo' y'."

Spencer chuckled weakly. He'd always been kind of nervous in the bedroom. Always. But he'd figured once that it would be different with Remy. That it would be easier. Go figure that his first time with Remy was probably going to be the hardest and most awkward time of all. Yet, there was no one else that he wanted to be here with. No one else he would trust like this. He knew that Remy meant every word he said. If Spencer wanted to stop, they would stop. This would all be on his terms. "I want to." There was one last thing he knew he needed to admit to, though. One thing he needed to ask his lover. "I just, I want to ask you something. I just don't want you to think…oh, never mind. Forget it."

The hand over Spencer's tightened briefly in support. "Ask me, Spencer. Don't ever be afraid t'ask me anything, especially where dis is concerned."

Still, it took him another few minutes to put his thoughts in order. Spencer felt the blush climb into his face. He closed his eyes, his hand taking hold of the sheet in a tight grip. "If we're going to do this, I need to know I really can. Like, all the way. I…I don't want to end up being the…giver." Why oh why couldn't he just say what he wanted to? Why couldn't he be as smooth or verbose as a normal person? Here, where it was the more important than it had ever been, he couldn't seem to say what he wanted to.

Yet again, Remy understood him and came to the rescue. "Y' wanna know if y' can handle having someone inside of y'."

Oh God. His flush spread from his cheeks to his whole face. He swore even the back of his neck heated a little. It was all he could do to nod.

"So basically," Remy was continuing. "What y' need tonight is a seduction."

Why was this so difficult? Spencer didn't know what he needed. All he knew was the desire he felt, and the urge to try. From there, it was like walking in a maze in the dark. He felt like a virgin all over again who had no idea where to put his hands, or what to say, or what to do. Maybe he'd been wrong to suggest this. Maybe Remy was laying there thinking that this was just too much to deal with. Maybe he was going to chase him away, all because he was being such a screw up tonight. Oh God, oh God.

Spencer suddenly jumped when he felt Remy's lips connect with his. The kiss was full of everything that Remy was feeling, the love and lust and even the _understanding_. It sent Spencer's brain for a loop, losing him in the sensation. He tried to push all his fears out of the way and focus only on Remy. That wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He was so lost in the kiss that he didn't even notice at first that Remy had laid him back on the bed.

Propped up on his arm, with his bad leg stretched carefully out, Remy put his other hand against Spencer's hip, lightly tracing the skin there. Just a slow back and forth movement. The first touch made Spencer jump, but the continuous movement easily soothed him back down.

"Just lie back and try t'enjoy y'rself." Remy moved to whisper against his ear. "If y' don't like something, don't be shy about telling me. I want t'make dis experience as wonderful fo' y' as possible." To punctuate those words, he bit lightly on Spencer's earlobe and then moved to nibble on his neck. Words were impossible. Spencer was having a hard time thinking beyond the feelings Remy was triggering in him. Feelings he had never thought he would ever have again.

Remy moved his mouth to that spot between his neck and his collarbone and Spencer gasped slightly. It made Remy chuckle against his skin and do it again. The hand that had been stroking his hip was slowly making longer and longer strokes, until those warm fingers brushed against Spencer's nipple. He didn't pinch or pull, but just rolled it under his thumb, teasing it to a peak. Small thoughts and worries tried to worm their way in, but Spencer pushed them away. This was Remy. Remy's lips against his collarbone now; Remy's hand moving over the skin on his stomach now, over his hip and up his side. Sensation after sensation rolled through Spencer's body until he trembled with the strength of them. It was Heaven. It was bliss.

That roaming hand slid down again, teasing at the edge of the boxers Spencer had stripped down to before bed, even as Remy's lips came back up to his ear again. "I don't t'ink y' gotta worry about y'r body, _bébé._ " Remy whispered, licking the shell of Spencer's ear. It took Spencer a second to focus on what Remy meant. Then he felt Remy's hand drop even lower, brushing against him. God, he'd been so lost under Remy's touches and kisses that he'd been oblivious to his body's response.

Spencer gasped when Remy abruptly stopped his teasing touches and simply slid his hand under Spencer's boxers and took hold of him. His hips almost launched up off the bed. Remy leaned over and kissed him, swallowing his moan as he moved his hand, just barely pulling up and sliding back down. Spencer almost sobbed into their kiss as lights exploded behind his eyes. He brought one hand up, cupping the back of Remy's head, deepening their kiss.

He forgot all about his fears. He forgot about everything except for this man in bed with him. There was no room in his mind for anything else. Pleasure built in him; the low fire growing and building so that every inch of his body felt consumed by it.

Remy bit at Spencer's bottom lip, sucking it in, just as his hand let go. Before Spencer could even think to protest, Remy's hand was at his boxers, pulling them down. The fear clamored back in, making him freeze. Feeling that, Remy froze as well, pulling his lips back just a hair. "I just wanna see y'." He whispered, looking into Spencer's eyes. "Y'r so beautiful, Spencer. I wanna be able t'look at y', dat's all."

Spencer bit his lip, but he nodded. Their eyes stayed locked together, their lips stayed that inch apart, as Remy slowly pulled the boxers down. When they were low enough, Spencer forced his legs to move, to help kick them off until he was lying naked in his bed— _their_ bed. Small tremors ran through him. Remy had seen him naked since the attack, but Spencer generally hadn't been coherent for those moments. It had only been when Spencer was at his worst and Remy was helping to get him out of his clothes and into clothes for bed. This was different. This was deliberate. He was lying here with the sole intent of letting another's eyes look at him.

Would Remy turn away from what he saw? Would he be disgusted with the scars that Spencer carried, both internally and externally? Most of those physical scars were self-inflicted.

Sensing the importance in this, Remy didn't rush his way through it. He started with Spencer's eyes and very slowly moved his gaze downward. His eyes took in every inch of bared skin. Every freckle, every scar; all of it. He felt his eyes tear at the sight of the scars on Spencer's stomach and chest, as well as the ones on his legs. It didn't pass by Remy's notice that Spencer had lost some of his erection. This was a very important moment for him. It was made even more obvious by the trembles that were shaking Spencer's small frame.

Once Remy's gaze had gone down and come back up, their eyes locked together again. "Y'r so beautiful, Spencer."

Those four words were full of such honesty and passion that Spencer couldn't doubt them. He didn't feel that he deserved them, though. "My…my scars." He stammered out. But Remy's lips were curving even as he gave Spencer a light kiss. "Dey're just a part of y', Spencer, dat's all. T'me, every inch of y' is beautiful, scars and all. I wouldn't have y' any other way." Then Remy kissed him again, and set about showing Spencer exactly how beautiful he thought he was.

In no time at all Spencer was lost again, his body riding that wave of pleasure. His muscles still quivered, but this time out of passion, not fear. One of his hands fisted in the blankets while the other again cupped the back of Remy's head, playing with the silky locks while Remy's lips and tongue drove him crazy, tasting every inch of his mouth. Remy's hand was running over the skin on his pelvis, his thighs. Spencer's legs slid open without him realizing it; his hips moved as he begged for the one touch he wanted more than anything and the one that they both knew would be the most risky.

It wasn't until Remy's hand slid lower than ever that Spencer started to tense again. He broke their kiss to look at Remy. He knew his eyes were wide. Knew that his breath was hitching slightly. But he didn't say a word to stop him as Remy's hand continued to go lower. Spencer just stared into Remy's eyes and reminded himself that this was Remy with him. Remy would never hurt him. Remy loved him. It gave him enough control to relax.

Then Remy did the last thing Spencer expected. With that one hand resting so close, he held it still, laying it on the bed. Without warning, he slid down Spencer's body. Confused, Spencer followed him with his eyes. In a normal frame of mind, in a time long ago, he would have instantly recognized what Remy was going to do. Now, he didn't realize it until Remy's warm mouth closed over the leaking tip of his cock. In a flash of _wet, hot, so good oh God so good,_ Spencer forgot all about the hand that was barely touching his ass.

Oh, _damn_. Everything in Spencer's world vanished except for the wet warmth that was taking him further and further in. _Jesus_. Never, in all his years, could he remember something that felt so good. His hands fisted into the bedspread and his legs fell further open even as his hips bowed up. At first he didn't even notice Remy's hand moving again, but then the tip of that finger was pushing in, and the coolness of the lube he felt there surprised him, because when the hell had Remy managed to get a tube of lube without breaking away from Spencer? Half of Spencer wanted to tense. The other half moaned out loud when Remy sucked him in the rest of the way.

His lover kept the two motions timed together. Each time Remy moved his finger and Spencer would try to tense, he would suck at him again, or bob his head, or run his warm tongue over and around him. Fear slowly left Spencer, overwhelmed by passion. His moans grew louder and his brain started to haze over. " _Remy_." He moaned out. It had been so long for him. His body was craving release. Higher and higher Spencer climbed until, with a final strong pull from Remy's mouth, he couldn't hold on anymore.

A sound that was half moan, half scream tore past Spencer's lips and his whole body bowed up. Remy never moved. He just relaxed his throat, swallowing it all down, until Spencer collapsed against the bed.

Remy looked up at Spencer's face as he let his lover's spent cock fall from his mouth. He had deliberately brought Spencer to orgasm, wanting to remind him that pleasure still existed, as well as loosen him up enough to relax. But that meant that it was time for the second half of his plan. He shed his boxers while Spencer was still panting on the bed, and then moved his body up, letting their skin brush against one another.

He felt it when Spencer tensed underneath him. Remy's face was over his, and his cock was pressed against Spencer's entrance. He didn't slam his legs closed like they'd both worried he might. Instead, every part of him went perfectly still. For a second Remy thought that Spencer even stopped breathing. Their eyes locked together again. "I'll stop any time y' want, Spencer." Remy reminded him, voice thick and accent heavy with his own passion. But he wanted this to be good for Spencer. To be special.

Spencer looked up at his lover and knew, without a doubt, that he had to try. If he didn't try now, he was terrified that he never would. He had to prove that he was stronger. That he could survive these demons. This was the biggest, most important step he was going to take on his road to recovery. "Don't stop." He whispered.

Slowly, carefully, Remy started to push in. It took everything Spencer had not to clench himself. His brain screamed at him to stop the intrusion at the same time that his heart reminded him over and over that this was Remy and he was safe. With all the willpower he had, Spencer kept his body as relaxed as possible. Remy moved slow enough that the discomfort wasn't overpowering. Spencer couldn't help comparing this moment to the one that haunted him. Then, it had been a sharp tearing pain, as if he was going to be split in two. This was more a…fullness. As if Remy both filled and surrounded him.

When Remy was deep inside of him, Spencer slowly relaxed his breathing. That hadn't been so bad. There was an ache, but it wasn't too much. He could do this. He would do this. "Kiss me, Rem." He asked him quietly. "Kiss me, and make me forget again. Make me crazy. Kiss me."

Remy didn't waste time with words. He bent his head and gave Spencer another of those soul wrenching, mind blowing kisses that he was coming to love. But still he held his hips still, even though Spencer could feel the quivers in Remy's body that told the effort it took to do this. He felt his heart overflow with the knowledge that Remy was leaving it up to him when they would move, or if they would. He had really meant what he had said. He would stop if Spencer asked him to.

That gave Spencer the strength to move his hips. He gasped at the sensations it brought. He moved again, experimenting with the way it felt. When Remy started to move with him, Spencer could have sworn his world was trembling.

Passion took place of the fear yet again. Spencer knew he could do this. He gave himself over to it, his arms coming up to wrap around Remy's neck. As a test, he rolled his body, his hips, and found that it made the both of them gasp. So he did it again, and again.

Together, the two climbed higher and higher to that one peak that all lovers seek. They basked in the light and glory of shared love. The light of healing. When at last, the very world seemed to splinter and explode around them, they collapsed together, clinging tightly to one another while their bodies shuddered and bucked and their souls rejoiced in that moment of feeling like one.

* * *

Remy lay on his back, just having finished cleaning the both of them. In his customary place against Remy's side, Spencer was curled up, body lax and perfectly content. They lay together, their heartbeats still slowing. Absently Remy was stroking the skin along Spencer's back. It had been everything he had wanted it to be and so much more. What they had shared together had been beautiful. Beyond beautiful.

Something wet touched Remy's chest. He looked down at his lover's head. "Cher, are y' crying?" he asked. A sniffle and a nod were his answer. "I didn't…Spencer, I didn't hurt y'?"

"No!" Spencer cried out immediately, tipping his head up and wiping away his tears. Love lit his face. For the first time in months, Spencer looked at Remy without a single shadow in his eyes. "No, I'm not hurt. I just…it was beautiful, Rem. I don't…I guess I mean, I didn't think it could, you know."

"I never knew it was dat beautiful either, Penny." Remy whispered, smiling now that he knew what was going on. "It aint never been like dat fo' me b'fore. Only here, only with y'."

"I feel like I found a part of me tonight, Remy. Like a part of me had been missing for a long time, and I found it here." Spencer smiled a shaky smile. "I can't say I'm healed now, but I feel more like me. That was the most powerful experience I've ever been through. You are the kindest, gentlest lover, and the sweetest person I have ever known. I don't know what I did to deserve you. But, you've saved me, Remy."

"Y' saved y'rself, Spencer. I just helped point y' in de right direction."

The two men snuggled back together, content to be with one another. There was nothing more that they needed in their life right then. Spencer was right. He wasn't totally healed yet, but a big part of him had healed that night. With his kind words and his gentle ways, Remy had not only climbed into his heart, but he had healed some of the hurt there and soothed away the pain. Because of Remy, Spencer felt that he had his sanity back. He was almost complete again. No, he wasn't healed, but he was going to be. With this man by his side, he could do anything.

THE END


End file.
